AHW'HILEWMI 

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No.  Graduation 
55        Day 


EDGAR  S  WERNER 

NEW  YORK 


Published  by 

EDGAR  S.  WERNER  &  CO. 
NEW  YORK 

Copyright,    1915,  by   Edgar  S.   "Werner. 


COMMENCEMENT  WEEK 

("Werner's  Readings  and  Recitations  No.  54) 

192-page  Book  $1.00  cloth,  60c.  paper  binding 

DIVISIONS  OF  BOOK 
INTRODUCTION.  — Commencement      Week 
Features.    Comprehensive  article  treating  scope 
and  aims  of  Commencement  Week. 

PART   I. — Baccalaureate  Sermons 

PART  II.— Hints  and  Subjects  for  Debate 

Affirmative     and     Negative     Points     Outlined 

PART  III.— Class  Day  and  Ivy  Day 

Class  Poems — Class  Odes — Class  Songs — Class 
Orations — Class  History- — Class  Mottoes — Class 
Chronicles — Class  Day  Addresses — Class  Day 
Valedictory — Class  Prophecies — Class  and  Col- 
lege Yells — Class  Day  Toasts — Class  Day  Drill 
for  Young  Ladies  (with  minute  directions, 
diagrams,  etc.) — Class  Day  and  Ivy  Day  Sug- 
gestive Programs — Our  Class  Colors — Ivy 
Poem — Ivy  Oration — Presentation  Addresses — 
Last  Will  and  Testament  of  Class — Greeting — 
Growler — Lawyer's  Ten  Commandments — 
Senior  Charge — etc. 
PART    IV.— Senior    Day,    Alumni    Meetings, 

Banquets 
Alumni    Orations — Alumni    Addresses — Alumni 
Poems — Alumni    Dinner    Speeches — Graduates' 
Social     Affairs  —  Popular     College     Candies  — 
Recipes  for  making,  etc. 
PART   V.— Racing,   Athletic,   Play    or   Recital 

Day 
Games  and  Contests  (with  full  directions)  Rec- 
itations and  Plays. 
PART    VI.— Reception    Day,    Parting    Songs. 

You  need  with  "Commencement  Week"  ("Wer- 
ner's Readings  No.  54")  also  "Graduation  Day" 
("Werner's  Readings  No.  55"),  which  is  an  im- 
portant part  of  "Commencement  Week."  80 
cents  in  cloth,  50  cents  in  paper  binding. 

Edgar  S.  Werner  &  Co.,   11  E.  14th  St.,  N.  Y. 


Werner's 

Readings  and  Recitations 

No.  55 


draintatioit   Pa^ 


COMPILED    AND    ARRANGED    BY 

STANLEY      SCHELL 


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EDGAR  S.  WERNER  &  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


Copyright,    1915,    by    Edgar    S.    Werner. 


Graduation  Day 

Werner's  Readings  and  Recitations  No.  55 


ALL  THE  MATERIAL  CONTAINED  IN  THIS 
BOOK  HAS  MOST  SUCCESSFULLY  STOOD 
THE  TEST  OF  SCHOOLS,  COLLEGES,  HIGH 
SCHOOLS,  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS,  AND  OTHER 
INSTITUTIONS. 

GRADUATION  DAY  [Werner's  Readings  and  Recita- 
tions No.  55]  IS  PART  OF  COMMENCEMENT 
WEEK  [Werner's  Readings  and  Recitations  No.  54] 
BUT,  OWING  TO  THE  VAST  AMOUNT  OF 
MATERIAL,  HAD  TO  BE  ISSUED  AS  A  SEP- 
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TERIAL FOR  A  SUCCESSFUL  COMMENCEMENT 
WEEK.  MUCH  OF  THE  MATERIAL  GIVEN  IS 
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JMlttye  material contained  in  drabuation  Pag 

[Werner's  Readings  and  Recitations  No.  55]   fyas 

been  compiled,  arranged,  eMtefc,  at  written 
especially  iat  tljis  book,  tofyidj  Ijas  been  buln 
tapnrigiljteft,  anfo  all  rights  are  ttsttvtb.   <£> 

Copyright,    1915,    by   Edgar   S.    Werner. 


Werner's   Readings   No.    55 — page   2 


ALPHABETICAL  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Action  Needs  Purpose  (Graduation  Address). — Laura  Drake  Gill.  139 
Adieux  au   College  de     Belley   (Graduation    Poem    in    French). — 

Alphonse  de   Lamartie   173 

Always  Last   (Valedictory)    168 

Americanism  (Valedictory). — M.  Dell  Adams   152 

Ancient  Seminary  Maid   (Graduation   Poem). — Margherita  Arlina 

Hamm     74 

"Applause  Goes  a  Great  Way"   (Salutatory) 65 

Awakening  of  the  Soul  (Graduation  Essay)   118 

"Be   Blind   and   Kind-'    (Salutatory) 67 

Be  Up  and  Doing  (Graduation  Address). — Charles  A.  Wingerter.  13" 

Because  She's  a  Woman,  Xot  Her  Learning  (Graduation  Poem).  79 

Beginnings  of  Things  (Kindergarten  Address). — Mary  Jean  Miller  141 

Build  Castles  in  the  Air   (Valedictory)    159 

Class   History   (burlesque)    182 

Class  Ode   186 

Class   Oration   (burlesque) 183 

Class   Poem   184 

Class  Prophecy  (burlesque)   183 

Class  Will  (burlesque  ) " 184 

Co-Ed  Gladiators  (Salutatory)    67 

College  Daughter — Lonely  Parents   (Graduation  Poem). — Eleanor 

Bates    86 

College-Life  Reveals  Real  Character  (Valedictory)    157 

College  Training   a   Great    Help     (Graduation    Address). — Daniel 

Coit   Gilman    144 

Commencement  Essays   (Graduation   Poem)    84 

Conferring  Diplomas   (burlesque)    185 

Culture  in  Six  Weeks   (Prize   Recitation)    ■ 36 

Culture  on  Bitter  Creek   (Prize  Recitation)    58 

Day  Worth  Remembering  (Valedictory)   160 

Deepwater  Debate  (Prize  Recitation). — May  McHenry 39 

Despise  Not  Little  Things   (Graduation  Essay)    115 

Difference  Between  College  and  University  (Graduation  Address). 

— Seth  Low. 123 

Directions  for  the  Reading-Class   (Graduation  Poem). — F.  Ursula 

Payne    : 85 

Werner's  Readings  No.   55 — page  3 


WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

PAGE 

Service  (Salutatory). — Minnie  Belle  Bradford   62 

Sing  with  Right  Good  Cheer  (Graduation  Song) 96 

Sterilized  Country  School  (Graduation  Poem). — J.  W.  Foley 70 

Stolen  Bridegroom  (Prize  Recitation). — Emerson  Hough 48 

Struggle,  the  Price  of  Progress  (Graduation  Oration) 109 

Studies  Over,  Gowns  Now  Uppermost  (Graduation  Poem) 81 

Study     Hard,     Play    Hard     (High    School     Address). — Theodore 

Roosevelt    148 

Suggestive  Graduation  Theses  and  Orations 149 

Teacher  to  His  Boys  (Graduation  Poem). — W.  T.  Miller 93 

Teacher's  Address   (Salutatory) 68 

Theses  (suggested)    149 

"This  Is  the  Last  Time"  (Valedictory). — Eugene  Wood 150 

Threads  of  Light   (Graduation  Address) 135 

Three  Decimal  Rules  of  Life  (Business  College  Address). — Gen. 

Stewart  L.  Woodford  - 1 32 

To  Speak,  or  Not  to  Speak  (Graduation  Parody) 76 

To  the  Graduates  (Graduation  Poem).— Teresa  Beatrice  O'Hare..  80 

Tolerance  the  Basis  of  Liberty  (Valedictory) 164 

Training  for  the   Navy    (Naval    Academy    Address). — Theodore 

Roosevelt 125 

Two  Diplomas   (Prize   Recitation)    '. .  15 

Uncle  Silas  on  "Co-Edication"  (Graduation  Poem) 72 

Vacation    Renews     Vigor     (Graduation     Poem). — Edith     Putnam 

Painton    95 

Valedictory   (burlesque) 185 

Vassar  Girl  (Graduation  Song). — Wallace  Irwin  . ...  97 

Vestal  Virgin  (Prize  Recitation)   20 

Village    View    Debating-Club    (Negro-Dialect     Play). — Helen     E. 

Brown 186 

"We,  About  to  Live,  Salute  You"  (Salutatory). — Eugene  Wood..  61 
What  College  Does  for  Girls  (Graduation  Address). — James  Mon- 
roe Taylor 133 

Who  Owned  the  Spoons?  (Prize  Recitation). — Fidelia  Fountain..  47 

Why  Class  "A"  Gave  Thanks  (Prize  Recitation). — Lucy  Copinger  33 
Wisdom  from  One's  Neighbors  (Graduation  Essay). — William  G. 

Ward    Ill 

Woman's  Sphere  and  Mission  (College  President's  Inaugural  Ad- 
dress).— John  Hampden  Thomas   146 

Women  and  the  Saloon  (Prize  Recitation). — Samuel  Dickie.. 4^ 

Woodland  Voices  Calling  (Graduation  Song) 90 

Werner's    Readings    No.    55 — page    6 


INDEX  TO  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Ade,  George 101 

Akers,   Vivian   M 105 

Adams,  M.  Dell 152 

Adams.  Mattie  L 169 

Bailey,  Philip  James 60 

Baird,  Jean  K 29 

Bates,  Eleanor  86 

Bradford,  Minnie  Belle :.  62 

Brown,   Helen    E 186 

Bryant,   William   Cullen 149 

Burdette,   Robert  J 55 

Burnell,   Mary   A 100 

Byron,  Lord   68.  170 

Chesterfield,   Lord    ..-. .  63 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor 74 

Copinger,  Lucy 33 

Cranch,   Christopher   F 148 

Cromwell,  Oliver   138 

Daly,  T.  A 81 

Dame.    Ruth   B 176 

De   Lamartie,  Alphonse   173 

Dickie,   Samuel    46 

Dunnigan,   Ambrose    P 154 

Eastman,    Ella    F 181 

Foley,  J.   W 70.  78 

Fountain,  Fidelia   47 

Gill,    Laura    Drake 139 

Gilman,  Daniel  Coit 144 

Gordon.  Margaret   177 

Grey,   Cynthia    87 

Hamm,    Margherita   Arlina...  74 

Hill.  Mabel  A 161 

Hoar,  George  Frisbee 113 

Hough,  Emerson   48 

Hubbell,   Charles    Bulkley....  130 

Irwin,  Wallace    97 


PAGE 

Johnson,  Samuel    24 

Jordan,  David  Starr 121 

Keats,  John    107 

Keller.   H.    S 102 

Kingsland,  Mrs.  Burton 13 

Leeds,  Virginia  Xiles   25 

Longfellow,    Henry   W....32,  104 

Loud.  John  J 99 

Low.    Seth    123 

McBeath,  Tom   , 88 

McHenry,  May  39 

McLaughlin.    Robert   J 142 

Mabie,  Hamilton  Wright 103 

Miller,  Mary  Jean 141 

Miller,  W.   T 93 

Milton.   John    45 

O'Hare,  Teresa   Beatrice 80 

Painton,    Edith    Putnam 66 

95.  126,  170,  171 

Payne,  F.  Ursula   85 

Pope,   Alexander    19 

Potter,   Henry  Codman 128 

Roosevelt,   Theodore    ....125,  148 

Schell.    Stanley    

Scott.  Walter    175 

Stanton,    Frank   L 73 

Taylor,  James  Monroe 133 

Thwing,  Charles   F 136 

Thomas,  John   Hampden 146 

Thompson,    Keene    69 

Van  Vliet.   Ethel   M 101 

Ward,   William   G Ill 

Wingerter,   Charles   A. 137 

Wells,   Carolyn   179 

Wood,  Eugene  61,  108,  150 

Woodford,  Stewart  L 132 


Werner's   Readings   No.    55 — page   7 


CLASSIFIED  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

ADDRESSES 

Action   Needs   Purpose 139 

Be  Up  and  Doing 137 

Beginnings  of  Things   141 

College  Training  a  Great  Help  144 
Difference     Between     College 

and  University  123 

Education's   Aims 136 

Elocution    128 

Latin     and     Greek     Essential 

Studies    113 

Lessons  of  School  Life 126 

"Let  Your  Competitors  Smoke"  121 
Opportunity  to   Be   Seized  by 

Forelock    130 

Study  Hard,  Play  Hard 148 

Teacher  to  His  Boys 93 

Teacher's  Address  68 

Threads   of   Light 135 

Three  Decimal  Rules  of  Life.   132 

To  the  Graduates 80 

Training  for  the  Navy 125 

Vacation  Renews  Vigor 95 

What  College  Does  for  Girls.  133 
Woman's  Sphere  and  Mission  146 

CLASS  DAY  (Burlesque) 

Class  History    182 

Class  Ode 186 

Class  Oration  183 

Class  Poem    184 

Class   Prophecy   183 

Class  Will   184 

Conferring  Diplomas   185 

Valedictory     185 

Werner's  Readings 


PAGE 

DIALECT 

Gettin'   Ready  to  Graduate...  77 

Kitty's    Graduation    81 

Ma  and  Pa,  Not  Polly,  Needed 

Educatin'    69 

Mollie  Is  Graduatin' 71 

Other  Boy  Is  the  Bad  Boy..  89 

Uncle  Silas  on  "Co-Edication"  72 

Village  View  Debating-Club.  186 

DRAMATIC   OR   PRIZE 

SPEAKING  SELECTIONS 

Culture  in  Six  Weeks 36 

Culture  on  Bitter  Creek 58 

Deepwater  Debate ■ . .     39 

Girl     School  -  Teacher     Who 

Farmed    55 

Graduation  Day  Prize  Contest  178 

Honors  of  the  Class 29 

Stolen   Bridegroom   48 

Two  Diplomas  15 

Vestal  Virgin   20 

Why  Class  "A"  Gave  Thanks     33 

Who  Owned  the  Spoons? 47 

Women  and  the  Saloon 46 

ESSAYS 

Awakening  of  the  Soul 118 

Despise  Not  Little  Things...   115 

Historical  Novel  142 

How   to    Write   a    Graduation 

Essay   103 

Wisdom    from    One's    Neigh- 
bors    Ill 

FRENCH  LANGUAGE 

Adieux  au  College  de  Belley..  173 

GIFTS 

Gift  to  a  Girl  Graduate 179 

No-    55 — page   8 


CLASSIFIED 

PAGE 

HINTS  OR  SUGGESTIONS 

How   to    Write    a    Graduation 

Essay   103 

Graduating   Oration    105 

Graduation  Program  Hints...   176 
Hints  for  Graduation  or  Com- 
mencement Day  13 


HUMOR 

Ancient  Seminary  Maid 

Because  She's  a  Woman,  Not 
Her   Learning    

Commencement   Essays    

Directions  for  the  Reading- 
Class     

Gettin'   Ready  to  Graduate... 

Graduation  at  Miss  Lurch's 
Boarding-School    

Graduation   Time   

Her  Senior  Smile  Your  Water- 
loo     

I  Want  to  Live  in  a  College 
To  ivn    

Kitty's  Graduation   

"Old-Time  Friends"  on  Exhi- 
bition-Day     

Ma  and  Pa,  Not  Polly,  Need- 
ed Educatin'   

Other  Boy  Is  the  Bad  Boy.. 

Pedagogue's  Wooing  

Resistless  March  of  Girl 
Graduates    

School-Books  Out  of  Date.. . . 

Searching  for  Wisdom 

Sterilized  Country  School 

Studies  Over,  Gowns  Now 
Uppermost    

To  Speak,  or  Not  to  Speak. .  . 

Vassar  Girl  


74 

79 
84 

85 
77 

181 
78 

87 

101 
81 

73 

69 
89 
S3 

102 
88 

101 
70 

81 
76 
97 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

MONOLOGUES,  RECITALS 

Ancient   Seminary  Maid 74 

Because  She's  a  Woman,  Not 

Her  Learning  79 

College      Daughter — Lonely 

Parents    86 

Commencement    Essays    84 

Girl      School  -  Teacher      Who 

Farmed    55 

Graduation  Time    78 

Her  Graduation  25 

Her  Graduation   Rhyme 90 

Kitty's  Graduation   81 

Ma  and  Pa.  Not   Polly,  Need- 
ed Educatin'   69 

Mollie  Is  Graduatin'   71 

"Old-Time  Friends"  on  Exhi- 
bition-Day      73 

Other  Boy  Is  the  Bad  Boy...  89 

Proud  of  His  Son-Graduate..  75 

Romance  in  Old  College  Days  94 

Sterilized  Country  School....  70 

Teacher  to  His  Boys 93 

Uncle  Silas  on  "Co-Edication"  72 

Vacation  Renews  Vigor 95 

Vestal  Virgin   20 

ORATIONS 

Duty  the  Highest  Call 108 

Graduating   Oration    105 

Orations   (suggested )    149 

Struggle,  the  Price  of  Progress  109 

PARODIES 

School-Books  Out  of  Date...  88 

To  Speak,  or  Not  to  Speak..  76 

PLAYS 

Village   View   Debating-Club.  186 
Graduation    at    Miss     Lurch's 

Boarding-School     181 


Werner's   Readings   No.    55 — page   9 


CLASSIFIED 

PAGE 

POEMS 

Adieux  au  College  de  Belley.  173 

Always  Last   168 

Ancient  Seminary  Maid 74 

Because  She's  a  Woman,  Not 

Her   Learning    79 

Class  Poem  184 

College      Daughter  —  Lonely 

Parents    86 

Commencement   Essays    84 

Directions    for    the    Reading- 
Class    85 

Fate— Graduate    1 72 

Gettin'   Ready  to   Graduate...  77 

"Good-By"    175 

"Good-by  but  Not  Farewell".  170 

Good  Ship,  Alma  Mater 172 

Graduation  Time   78 

Hard  Lessons — Harder  Trials 

Coming  169 

Her  Graduation   Rhyme 90 

Her  Senior  Smile  Your  Water- 
loo      87 

Kitty's  Graduation  81 

Juniors'     Farewell    to    Senior 

Class    171 

Ma  and  Pa,  Not  Polly,  Need- 
ed Educatin'  69 

Mollie  Is  Graduatin' 71 

"Old-Time  Friends"  on  Exhi- 
bition-Day   73 

Other  Boy  Is  the  Bad  Boy. . .  89 

Pedagogue's  Wooing  83 

Pleasure  More  Than  Pain....  66 

Proud  of  His  Son-Graduate..  75 

Romance  in  Old  College  Days  94 

School-Books  Out  of  Date...  88 

Sterilized  Country  School....  70 
Studies     Over,     Gowns     Now 

Uppermost 81 

Teacher  to  His  Boys 93 

Werner's  Readings 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 
POEMS— Continued.    ' 

To  Speak,  or  Not  to  Speak..     76 

To  the   Graduates 80 

Uncle  Silas  on  "Co-Edication"     72 

Vacation  Renews  Vigor 95 

PROGRAMS 
Graduation  Day  Prize  Contest  178 
Graduation   Program  Hints...  176 
Rural  School  Commencement  177 

QUOTATIONS 

19,  24"  32,  45,  60,  63,  68,  74,  104,  107 
138,  148,  149,  170,  175,  179,  180 
SALUTATORIES 
"Applause  Goes  a  Great  Way"     65 

"Be    Blind  and  Kind" 67 

Co-Ed  Gladiators  67 

Don't   Withhold  Applause 63 

First  Steps   64 

Future,   Not   the    Present,   the 

Test   64 

Latin   Salutatory   1 82 

Pleasure  More  Than  Pain 66 

Service  62 

"We,    About    to    Live,    Salute 

You"    61 

SENTIMENT 

Pedagogue's  Wooing  83 

SONGS 
(Words  only — tunes  suggested) 

High  Ideals  Not  Lost ,100 

I  Want  to   Live  in  a  College 

Town    101 

Mother   Earth  Holiday   •    99 

Parting  of  the  Ways „     99 

Resistless      March      of      Girl 

Graduates    102 

Searching  for  Wisdom 101 

Sing  with  Right  Good  Cheer.     96 

Vassar  Girl  97 

Woodland  Voices   Calling 98 

No.   55 — page   10 


CLASSIFIED 

PAGE 

TEMPERANCE 

Women  and  the  Saloon 46 

THESES 
(Suggested)    149 

VALEDICTORIES 

Adieux  au  College  de   Belley.    173 

Always  Last  168 

Americanism    152 

Build  Castles  in  the  Air 159 

College-Life       Reveals       Real 

Character    157 

Day  Worth  Remembering.  .  . .    160 
Entering  an  Unknown  World  174 

Fate — Graduate    172 

"Good-By" 175 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 
VALEDICTORIES — Continued. 

"Good-by  but  Xot  Farewell'..   170 

Good.  Ship,  Alma  Mater 172 

Hard   Lessons — Harder  Trials 

Coming     169 

Joy     and     Sadness — Sunshine 

and  Shadow    162 

Juniors'     Farewell     to     Senior 

Class    171 

Learning,   Health,  Sanctity...   154 
Memory     and       Hope:      Two 

Great  Forces   156 

Sentiment  Rules  the  World..   161 

"This  Is  the  Last  Time" 150 

Tolerance    the    Basis    of    Lib- 
erty     164 

Valedictory     185 


Werner's  Readings   No.    u5 — page  11 


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"^Mutteo  foe  siauo — btotoeo  tot  fall!" 

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SIlje  uutou  of  ijearis,  tlje  uutou  of  Ijauos — 

J^uo  ii|£  flag  of  our  jptutou  foreuer! 


Wernpr's  Readings  No.   55 — page  12 


Werner's 
Readings  and  Recitations 

No.  55 

Graduation  Day 

Copyright,   1915,   by  Edgar  S.  Werner 

INTRODUCTION 

HINTS  FOR  GRADUATION  OR   COMMENCEMENT 

DAY. 


Mrs.  Burton  Kingsland. 


"Welcome  her,  all   tilings  youthful  and  Bweet, 
Scatter  the  blossoms   under   her  feet." 

TENNYSON'S  words  of  welcome  to  Alexandra,  when  she  came  as 
bride  to  England,  are  just  what  we  want  to  express  when  wc  see 
young  girl  graduates  stepping  forth  eagerly,  yet  half-timidly,  to 
take  their  places  in  the  big  world,  for  which  a  course  of  training  for 
years  has  prepared  them.  It  is  a  great  event,  when,  on  graduation  day, 
in  presence  of  friends  of  the  whole  school  or  college,  they  are  awarded 
diplomas,  certificates  of  merit,  prizes,  or  whatever  honors  their  fidelity 
entitles  them  to  receive.  A  girl  would  not  be  a  girl  if  she  did  not 
think  of  what  she  should  wear.  The  dress  should  be  simple,  and  white, 
emblematic  of  purity,  and  of  the  unknown  future,  the  blank  page  on 
which  is  to  be  written  her  life's  history.  Hair  should  be  arranged  as 
usual;  bunch  of  flowers  in  belt,  perhaps  a  touch  of  color  in  sash  and 
hair-ribbon,  etc. 

Girls  of  graduating  class  sit  on  platform,  on  either  side,  facing 
principal  and  teachers  of  school.  Bouquets,  sent  by  friends  of  grad- 
uates, are  placed  in  lines  like  footlights  along  edge  of  platform.  Rest 
of  school  sit  in  front  seats  on  floor  of  room.  Piano  is  placed  in  center 
against  platform.  Exercises  begin  with  chorus  sung  by  entire  school. 
Mendelssohn's  "Spring  Song"  is  appropriate,  to  be  followed  by  an  ad- 
dress on  a  live  topic  by  man  or  woman  whose  character  gives  weight 
to  what  is  said.  After  the  address  a  song  by  a  quartet  from  graduating 
class,  whole  school  joining  in  chorus.     Remarks  from  principal  who 

(13) 


14  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

awards  diplomas,  honor-pins,  certificates  of  merit,  after  which  guests 
and  pupils  mingle  socially,  for  congratulations  and  good-wishes,  and 
adjourn  to  another  room  for  refreshments. 

Country  school  graduation  day  exercises  may  be  held  in  school- 
room decorated  with  plants,  real  or  artificial,  class-flower  predominat- 
ing. Girl  graduates  may  wear  same  kind  of  flowers  in  hair  and  belt. 
A  two-piano  duet  may  introduce  program;  then  a  humorous  recitation; 
string  quartet,  followed  by  pupil  who  reads  class  history,  in  which  she 
pretends  to  report  what  takes  place  ten  years  later,  weaving  into  her 
"history"  peculiarities,  characteristics,  ambitions,  fads,  etc.,  of  members 
of  the  class.  For  instance,  one  girl  may  be  said  to  have  secured  hus- 
band through  a  matrimonial  agency,  while  the  speaker  refers  to  herself 
as  "one  of  those  uncanonized  saints  called  'old  maids,'  and  sometimes 
mis-named  'unappropriated  blessings,'  since  experience  teaches  that 
everybody  appropriates  them  in  interest  of  their  affairs,  an  old  maid 
supposedly  having  no  affairs  of  her  own."  Then  may  come  a  chorus, 
award  of  prizes  and  honors,  address  by  head  of  school,  and  crowning 
with  laurel  most  popular  member  of  class. 

Suitable  exercise  may  be  an  entertainment,  given  by  Juniors  to 
Seniors,  in  form  of  tableaux,  illustrating  titles  of  books,  to  be  guessed 
by  audience.  Cards  and  pencils  are  distributed  among  audience  who 
write  their  answers  and  names.  These  cards  are  collected,  person  hav- 
ing most  correct  answers  receiving  a  prize,  which  may  be  a  box  of 
bonbons  in  shape  of  a  book. 

Fortune-telling  may  give  much  amusement.  One  method  is  to 
use  a  wheel,  say  three  feet  in  diameter,  cut  from  pasteboard,  covered 
with  paper  roses,  small  roses  on  spokes,  large  roses  on  tire  and  bunch 
of  roses  at  hub,  wheel  arranged  to  revolve  on  pivot.  Gilded  arrow  is 
fastened  on  one  spoke.  Cards,  with  fortunes,  characters,  etc.,  written 
on  them,  are  placed  on  table.  Wheel  is  laid  on  round  table,  and  is* 
turned;  wheel  stopping,  arrow  points  to  card  which  tells  fortune  of 
some  particular  person.  Quotations  from  poets  are  rich  in  suggestion 
on  love  and  marriage.  Bartlett's  "Familiar  Quotations"  is  helpful. 
"She  hath  a  pair  of  chaps"  has  Shakespeare's  authority  for  one,  and 
another  may  read,  "Her  tongue  will  not  obey  her  heart."  The  rule  is 
that  each  inquirer  must  read  his  or  her  fate  aloud  for  entertainment 
of  all  the  company. 

Enjoyable  is  lawn  dance,  by  moonlight;  trees,  piazzas,  etc.,  dec- 
orated with  colored  lanterns;  girls  appearing  in  costumes,  as,  for  ex- 
ample, Maid  Marian,  Flora,  Ceres,  Arcadian  shepherdesses,  Phillis, 
sweetheart  of  Corydon,  dress  of  court  ladies  of  Marie  Antoinette,  mas- 
querading as  peasants  at  Trianon.  Gipsy  fortune-teller  would  be  a 
welcome  and  fantastic  feature  of  the  affair. 


PART  I. 

Dramatic  or  Prize  Speaking  Selections  for 

Prize  Contests  or  for  Graduation  Day 

TWO  DIPLOMAS 


4 1  T       OOK,  mother,  here  it  is  at  last !     Listen :    'The  principal 

J j    of  the  normal  school  hereby  declares    that  Miss    Mary 

Beaumont  is  fitted  and  prepared  to  receive  a  position  as  teacher 
in  the  primary  grades  of  any  school  to  which  she  may  be  called.' 
Oh,  do  put  away  your  work  for  a  minute,  and  look  at  what  I  have 
studied  so  hard  to  get." 

"Yes,  little  daughter,  I  see,  and  I  am  very  happy  and  very  proud 
of  you — but  these  last  dozen  stocks  must  be  finished  and  delivered 
to-night.     I  must  hurry." 

"Ah !  but  it  won't  be  long  now  before  you  can  drop  this  con- 
stant sewing.  As  soon  as  I  get  my  position  as  teacher,  you  will 
no  longer  need  to  slave  at  this  ungrateful  work." 

"Yes,  I  can  no  longer  see  as  I  used  to,  and  my  fingers  are  grow- 
ing stiff.     But,  Mary,  you  must  not  call  my  work  ungrateful." 

"Why,  what  interest  can  you  possibly  take  in  it?"  asked  the 
young  girl,  unconsciously  disdainful  in  her  surprise. 

"A  person  soon  begins  to  love  the  work  that  she  does  day  after 
day,"  replied  her  mother  with  patient  smile.  "My  pretty  stocks 
and  collars  bring  back  so  many  memories  !  First,  when  I  was  still 
a  timid  beginner  in  the  store,  your  father  used  to  court  me  on  my 
way  to  and  from  the  store  with  my  work.  Ah,  those  were  happy 
days  I  Then  came  our  housekeeping,  with  its  joy  and  sorrow; 
for  soon  after  you  came  to  make  us  still  happier  than  before,  my 
dear,  good  husband  died.  What  would  have  become  of  us  then, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  my  needle?  It  flew  swiftly  through  the  cloth 
in  spite  of  the  tears  that  blinded  me.  It  has  educated  you,  Mary, 
dear.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  what  a  dear  little  girl  you 
were !" 

"Mother,"  interrupted  Mary,  interested  only  in  the  present,  "I 

(Werner's  Readings  No.  55— page  15) 


16  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

mean  to  have  my  diploma  framed.  You'll  hang  it  in  a  good  place, 
won't  you?" 

"Certainly,  dear.  A  diploma  is  a  thing  to  be  very  proud  of. 
I  shall  have  one,  too,  before  long." 

"What !" 

"Oh,  not  a  teacher's  diploma.  I  do  not  mean  that.  Mine  will 
be  simply  my  certificate  of  thirty  years'  work  in  the  store." 

"Oh,  yes,"  carelessly.  "I  have  heard  of  that.  I  think  it  is  really 
a  stupid  sort  of  thing  to  do.  The  owners  give  them  to  their  old 
workers  as  a  kind  of  receipt  for  the  work  they  ha^e  done.  But 
what  could  it  possibly  mean  to  you?" 

"It  would  be  a  great  moral  satisfaction." 

"Well,  I  should  be  ashamed  of  it  myself." 

"Ashamed  ?    Oh,  Mary,  why  ?" 

"It  would  not  stand  for  any  intellectual  superiority.  It  would 
be  merely  a  sign  of  good  conduct.  Anyway,  mother,  I  hope  you'll 
have  the  good  sense  not  to  exhibit  it." 

Mrs.  Beaumont's  hands  trembled  as  she  bent  over  the  work  in 
her  lap.  She  understood  now  that  her  daughter  was  ashamed  of 
her.  Mary's  words  came  back  to  her,  the  young  girl's  invariable 
reply  to  the  questions  of  her  schoolmates :  "My  mother  ?  Oh,  she 
doesn't  do  anything.  Because,"  as  she  later  explained  to  her 
mother,  "there  is  no  use  in  telling  the  whole  world  of  our  private 
affairs." 

"What  is  the  matter,  mamma?"  asked  Mary,  astonished  at  her 
sudden  silence. 

"Nothing.    I  just  pricked  myself,  that  is  all." 


"Have  you  not  some  friend  or  relative  who  can  come  and  stay 
with  you  ?"  asked  the  doctor  as  he  wrote  out  several  prescriptions. 
"No,  sir,  but  I  am  able  to  take  care  of  my  mother  myself." 
"You  are  very  young,  Miss  Mary,  to  be  alone  at  such  a  time." 
"Oh,  sir,  you — you  do  not  mean  that — that  mother  is  worse?" 
"Her  condition  is  very  grave,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  a  kind 


GRADUATION  DAY  17 

smile.  "Serious,  but  not  desperate.  People  recover  from  worse 
things  than  congestion  of  the  lungs." 

"Oh !  doctor,  when  I  think  that  it  has  been  for  me  that  she  has 
made  herself  ill !  I  begged  her  to  rest,  but  she  would  work  late,  late 
into  the  night,  that  my  clothes  might  be  in  perfect  order  before  I 
went  away  to  take  my  position  as  school-teacher — the  position 
that  I  hoped  would  make  her  life  so  much  easier.  For  she  is  tired 
out,  is  she  not?" 

"It  is  certain  that  your  mother  has  reached  the  end  of  her 
strength,  that  she  has  even  deprived  herself  of  necessary  rest  and 
relaxation  for  too  many  years,  and  this  will,  of  course,  render  it 
more  difficult  for  her  to  get  well." 

"Oh !  my  mother,"  moaned  Alary,  hiding  ner  scarlet  cheeks  in 
her  hands.     "It  was  for  me  that  she  deprived  herself  !     For  me !" 

Day  and  night  the  young  girl  watched  tirelessly  at  her  mother's 
bedside,  trying  to  read  some  sign  of  encouragement  in  the  doctor's 
sober  face.     Mrs.  Beaumont's  weak  voice  rang  in  her  ears: 

"Mary — I  must  get  up — there  is  work  that  I  must  finish !" 

"Rest  quietly,  little  mother,  it  is  all  done,  I  assure  you." 

But  the  weak,  delirious  voice  would  continue:  "You  must  take 
it  to  the  store.  Ask  for  the  lady  in  charge  of  the  working  depart- 
ment. You  can  pretend  that  you  are  doing  it  for  a  sick  neighbor. 
I  know  it  is  hard  for  you,  a  teacher  with  a  diploma,  to  have  a 
mother  like  me— only  a  poor  working-woman.  I  never  thought  of 
it  before,  but  I  saw  it  well  the  day  you  brought  your  diploma 
home.     I  think  my  heart  broke  that  day." 

"Mother,  mother,"  implored  Mary,  "be  merciful,  do  net  speak 
so " 

The  sick  woman  smiled  gently,  her  thoughts  turning  now  to  the 
diploma  of  her  thirty  years'  work. 

"Thirty  years,"  she  whispered.  "I  was  young  then.  I  am  an 
old  woman  now !  She  asked  me  what  my  diploma  would  stand 
for ;  it  isn't  much,  only  my  whole  life.  Oh !  I  should  have  liked 
to  have  had  it — three  months  more — but  now,  I  cannot  do  it !" 

Qnce  more  she  would  beg  for  her  work,  and  it  was  with  diffi- 


18  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

cnlty  that  Mary  kept  her  in  the  bed.  At  other  moments  she  be- 
lieved that  she  was  back  in  the  years  of  her  daughter's  babyhood 
and  the  pale  lips  framed  forgotten  lullabies  and  the  childish  words 
that  a  mother's  heart  treasures.  At  last  Mary  understood  clearly 
what  the  devoted  heart  would  never  have  confessed — the  long 
nights  divided  between  the  work  to  be  completed  and  the  cradle 
where  the  child,  sick  with  a  child's  ailments,  lay  tossing  and  fret- 
ting, the  daily,  unheeded  privations  by  which  the  mother  robbed 
herself  of  strength  and  vitality  that  she  might  give  it  to  her  daugh- 
ter. The  young  girl  understood  now  why  her  mother  seemed  so 
prematurely  old,  why  her  shoulders  were  bent  and  her  rosy  cheeks 
faded.  But  she  must  stifle  her  sobs  lest  she  disturb  her  mother. 
Just  then  some  one  knocked  at  the  door.  Mary  ran  to  open  it. 
A  woman  stepped  in,  saying,  with  real  concern  in  her  voice : 

"I  am  in  charge  of  the  workers'  department  of  the  store  and  I 
wanted  to  inquire  for  Mrs.  Beaumont." 

"Alas !  madam,  my  mother  is  very  ill/' 

"I  am  truly  sorry  to  hear  it.  Mr.  Gray,  the  owner  of  the  store, 
desirous  of  bestowing  a  well-deserved  compensation  for  her  work, 
asked  me  to  bring  it  to  her,  but  now,  now " 

"Oh,  madam,  my  mother  has  asked  for  it  so  often  in  her  de- 
lirium, perhaps  the  sight  of  it  would  quiet  her.  Would  you  come 
in  very  quietly,  please?" 

The  visitor  entered  noiselessly,  and  without  a  word  laid  the 
diploma  on  the  sick  woman's  bed.  Mrs.  Beaumont  did  not  appear 
to  see  it. 

"My  diploma,"  she  repeated,  in  a  voice  that  was  scarcely  audi- 
ble. "I  should  never  have  shown  it — because  of  Mary — but  I 
should  have  been  so  glad — to  have  had  it !" 

Fortunately  the  visitor  did  not  understand  the  meaning  of  her 
words,  but  Mary  blushed  scarlet.  A  moment  later,  as  the  young 
girl  turned  once  more  to  her  mother's  bedside,  it  seemed  to  her 
sorrowful  fancy  that  the  diploma  lay  like  an  epitaph  on  the  white 
bed !  Three  weeks  later,  Mrs.  Beaumont,  very  feeble,  very  pale, 
left  her  room  for  the  first  time.    The  doctor  had  at  last  given  his 


GRADUATION  DAY  19 

consent.  She  had  been  near,  very  near,  to  the  gates  of  death ;  but, 
thanks  to  her  daughter's  devoted  care,  she  would  live  many  years. 
Mary,  too,  was  no  longer  the  same  girl  she  was  before  her  moth- 
er's illness.  In  her  turn  now  she  watched  the  long  night  change 
into  day,  each  hour  more  thankful  that  she  could  thus  repay  some 
part  of  her  childhood's  debt.  A  new  expression  shone  in  her 
white  face  as  she  helped  her  mother  to  dress  and  presently  drew 
the  thin  arm  under  her  own. 

"Come,  mamma,  I  have  a  surprise  for  you," 

With  slow  steps  Mrs.  Beaumont  achieved  the  long  journey  from 
her  room  to  the  little  parlor.  The  bright  autumn  sunlight  filled 
the  cozy  sitting-room,  shining  like  a  smile  of  welcome  on  all  the 
familiar  objects. 

"Well,  dearie,  your  surprise?" 

"Look/' 

"Your  teacher's  diploma — framed !  Indeed,  I  am  proud  to  see 
that !" 

"Yes,  I  had  forgotten ;  but  this  is  what  I  wanted  you  to  see, 
mother." 

And  Mary  pointed  to  the  place  of  honor  above  the  mantel,  where 

a  second  diploma  hung,  this  one  much  more  beautifully  framed 

than  the  other.     Trembling  with  delight,  Mrs.  Beaumont  read  in 

a  voice  filled  with  happiness  : 

"This   diploma    of  honor  has  been  presented   to    Mrs. 
■     Mary    Beaumont    for    her    thirty    years'    consecutive    good 
work  in  our  store.  Thomas  Gray." 


"Oh,  Mary " 

It  was  all  she  could  say  as  she  turned,  her  face  radiant,  to  her 
daughter. 

"You  see,  I  am  so  proud  of  it,  mother  dearest !"  replied  Mary, 
stooping  to  kiss  the  hands  that  had  worked  so  hard  for  her. 


A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing; 

Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring. 

There  shallow  draughts  intoxicate  the  brain, 

And  drinking  largely  sobers  us  again. — Alexander  Pope. 


20  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

VESTAL  VIRGIN. 


Ct/^*  HESSIE,"  as  his  fond  family  called  him,  spoke  with  a 
V_y  lisp,  and  parted  his  yellow  hair  in  the  middle.  He  was 
just  about  to  enter  college.  Barnes,  or  "Barnsie/'  was  a  reformed 
middle-weight  champion.  He  had  been  converted  after  his  fifth 
successful  engagement  in  the  ring,  and  had  found  himself  austere- 
ly petted  ever  since  by  a  wealthy  uncle.  Barnsie  was  anxious  to 
commence  theological  prize-fight  with  the  hosts  of  sin,  but  his 
difficulties  were  no  feather-weights.  He  would  even  now  dream 
during  the  night  that  he  was  once  more  in  the  praise-environed 
precincts  of  the  ring.  He  had  once  risen  in  his  strength  and  robe- 
de-nuit,  rushed  about  the  room,  and  demolished  a  plaster  cast  of 
the  Rev.  John  Knox.  He  had  also  tenderer  dreams ;  he  had  fallen 
in  love  with  Mrs.  Wylkynse's  only  daughter  Gladys.  Not  an  ac- 
complished wooer,  he  continually  put  delicate  little  attentions, 
such  as  one  would  give  a  girl,  upon  the  young  man,  Chessie.  Mrs. 
Wylkynse  had  an  idea  that  this  thoroughly  objectionable  young 
person  was  trying  to  court  both  her  daughter  and  her  son,  and 
was  jealous  of  him  in  each  case.  A  few  days  before  Chessie's 
departure  for  his  exams,  Barnsie  called  and  was  told  by  Gladys 
that  Fitzherbert  Netherwood,  a  Sophomore  at  the  college,  and  a 
rival  of  Barnsie's,  had  assured  her  the  Freshman  were  sometimes 
almost  murdered  by  the  upperclass  men. 

****** 

It  was  evening,  when  a  brakeman  telescoped  his  head  and  neck 
into  the  coach  where  Chessie  sat  alone,  and  yelled  "Maryville !" 

A  polite  man,  with  "University"  smiling  from  a  small  badge 
on  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  stepped  up  to  Chessie,  asked  him  if  he 
was  a  student  just  arrived,  took  him  to  a  cab,  whose  driver  had  the 
same  badge  on  his  hat,  and  left  him.  Presently,  a  learned  looking 
gentleman  with  white  beard  entered,  and  the  vehicle  moved  away. 
"Are  you  about  to  become  a  student  ?"  he  inquired,  genially. 

"Yeth,  thir,  that  ith  the  understanding." 


GRADUATION  DAY  21 

"I  am  the  Secretary,  and  we  will  go  directly  to  the  President's 
house,  where  you  can  have  your  examination  in  a  little  while,  and 
be  all  ready  for  work  in  the  morning.  The  ordeal  is  not  hard,  and 
you  will  feel  better  with  it  over." 

After  a  half  hour's  drive  they  came  to  a  large,  imposing  build- 
ing. Chessie  was  led  into  a  little  reception-room.  Presently,  a 
smiling  gentleman  entered,  and  grasped  him  by  the  hand.  Several 
clerical-looking  persons  circled  around  the  room.  Chessie  made 
them  a  profound  bow. 

"Now,  my  young  friend,"  said  the  President,  "kindly  attach 
your  autograph  to  this  paper." 

Chessie  did  so. 

"Mr.  Wylkynse,  it  will  be  necessary  that  I  ask  you  a  few  plain 
questions  and  that  you  answer  them  frankly." 

"Thertainly,  thir,  protheed." 

"Mr.  Wylkynse,  were  you  ever  in  love?" 

"No,  thir." 

"What !"  shouted  the  whole  company  of  professors  in  chorus, 
rising  to  their  feet.  "At  this  age,  and  in  this  age,  and  never  wild- 
ly, deeply  and  irrevocably  in  love.     Away  with  him !" 

"Do  not  be  over-hard  with  the  young  man,"  interposed  the 
President.  "Do  you  consent,  Mr.  Wylkynse,  to  do  your  utmost 
in  correcting  this  unique  mistake?" 

"Thertainly,  thir,  if  it  is  nethethary  in  order  to  conform  with 
the  rulth.     I  will  do  my  betht,  thir — my  very  betht." 

"Professor  of  Mental  and  Moral  Science,  record  his  answer. 
He  will  do  his  best.  Be  seated,  my  fellow-instructors.  I  will  now 
propound  to  you  another  question.    Are  you  a  roisterer?" 

"A  what— thtsrer  ?" 

"A  roisterer,  sir, — roister?    Tell  me,  and  tell  me  truly." 

"I  do  not  exthactly  underthand  what  that  ith.  But  I  am  will- 
ing, thir,  to  try,  thir." 

"What !"  shouted  the  professors  in  chorus,  rising  as  one  man. 
"He  has  never  roistered?    Away  with  him!" 

"Fellow-instructors,  by  your  impetuosity  you  may  spoil  a  prom- 


22  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

ising  career  upon  its  threshold.  He  is  willing  to  roister,  if  he 
only  knew  the  details  of  the  process.  Professor  of  Bibliology,  re- 
cord the  answer.  Mr.  Wylkynse,  are  you  familiar  with  that  beau- 
tiful line  in  the  "Psalm  of  Life/'  "Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait." 

"I  have  heard  it,  thir." 

"You  will  now,  my  dear  young  friend,  have  an  opportunity  of 
demonstrating  its  teachings.  Professor  of  Gastronomy,  bring  the 
toga." 

The  toga  was  brought.  It  resembled  a  modern  waiter's  apron. 
Chessie's  coat  was  taken  off,  and  the  toga  placed  upon  him.  He 
was  then  conducted  into  an  adjoining  room,  where  there  was  a 
table  covered  with  every  delicacy. 

"Bring  hither  the  soup,"  observed  the  President.  Poor  Chessie 
labored  and  waited  for  the  matter  of  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 
At  last  the  banquet  was  over,  and  he  was  conducted  back  to  the 
President's  room. 

"I  will  now  proceed  with  the  examination.  Mr.  Wylkynse,  can 
you  dance?" 

"I  think  I  have  been  danthing  quite  conthantly  during  the  patht 
theveral  minuteth,  thir !" 

"Good  boy!"  shouted  one  of  the  professors. 

"I  think  that  is  true,  Mr.  Wylkynse,"  rejoined  the  President; 
"but  there  is  another  department  of  physical  education  which  we 
never  allow  our  students  to  dispense  with.  Professor  of  Ath- 
letics, stand  forth !" 

"If  you  pleathe,  thir,  would  you  be  conthent  to  have  the  retht 
of  the  examination  pothponed  till  to-morrow?" 

The  request  was  finally  granted. 

"We  have  one  more  new  student  this  evening,"  remarked  a  pro- 
fessor. "One  of  the  boys  brought  him  while  we  were  at  dinner. 
I  think  he  is  green  enough  to  be  good  eating.  He  wishes  to  be 
examined  immediately." 

"Good !"  shouted  the  Faculty  in  chorus.    "Bring  him  right  in." 


GRADUATION  DAY  23 

Chessie  gave  a  start;  he  knew  him.  But  the  would-be  student 
shook  his  head  slightly  and  declined  recognition. 

"Let  us  examine  him  as  to  his  physical  structure,  the  first  thing 
we  do,''  proposed  the  Professor  of  Athletics.  "You  have  no  ob- 
jection, have  you?"  he  inquired,  politely,  handing  him  the  boxing- 
gloves. 

"Oh,  certainly  not,  if  you  wish,"  and  the  new  student  put  on 
the  gloves  very  readily.     Chessie  was  dumb  with  surprise. 

"A  physical  foundation  is  the  basis  of  all  true  education,  my 
young  friend,*'  remarked  the  President.     "Time  !" 

It  was  certainly  "Time,"'  and  the  Professor  of  Athletics  began 
in  a  minute  or  two  to  wonder  if  it  wasn't  somewhere  near  eternity. 
The  new  student  threw  up  his  blew  as  if  it  were  one  of  the  play 
strokes  of  a  kitten,  and  then  gave  him  a  return  one  on  the  right 
side  of  the  head;  then  one  on  the  left;  immediately  afterwards 
one  on  the  nose;  then  two  somewhere  among  the  ribs;  and  con- 
cluded with  an  honest  straightforward  punch  in  the  stomach  that 
sent  him  speechless  and  windless  against  the  wall. 

"Enough  !    Enough  !"  shouted  the  President. 

"No,  not  half  enough.  I  ain't  one-third  examined  yet!  Do  you 
want  to  cheat  me  out  o'  my  examination?  Say,  you  gray-haired 
soul,  do  you?"  and  he  deserted  the  Professor  of  Athletics  and  gave 
the  President  a  blow  that  displaced  a  wig  and  a  set  of  white  whis- 
kers both  at  once,  and  doubled  him  over  his  chair,  displaying  Fitz- 
herbert  Netherwood's  flushed  face. 

"Oh,  come  on  and  examine  me !"  shouted  Barnsie.  "Let  the 
Professor  of  Rhetoric  waltz  to  me." 

"Run  him  down,  boys,  and  hold  him !"  shouted  the  strongest  of 
the  group. 

"Oh,  are  you  all  goin'  to  examine  me  at  once,  perfessors  ?  Bare- 
handed, too  ?  Hurray !"  and  then  he  commenced  on  them.  He 
piled  the  first  five  he  could  reach  on  the  floor,  neatly  across  each 
other;  he  then  engaged  in  a  grand  professor-hunt  all  over  the 
room.  Some  of  them  tried  the  door :  it  was  locked,  and  the  key 
in  the  new  student's  pocket.      The    panic-stricken    young    men 


24  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

rushed  into  the  supper-room;  he  followed,  pursued  them  around 
the  demolished  banquet.  Neckties,  gravy,  collars,  cuffs,  soup, 
wigs,  Worcestershire  sauce,  false  hair,  and  students  were  all  min- 
gled together  in  a  large  and  unclassified  museum.  At  last  the  stu- 
dents found  a  blessed  window  and  sprang  from  it,  one  by  one,  the 
candidate  giving  each  a  hearty  kick  as  he  went  out. 

When  the  last  one  had  disappeared,  Barnsie  came  back.  "It's 
the  first  decent  scrap,  Chessie,  that  I've  had  since  I  was  converted," 
he  muttered,  as  the  other  flew  into  his  arms.  "Poor,  dear  Chessie ! 
Did  they  startle  you?" 

"Thtartle  me?"  replied  the  Virgin;  "it  wath  a  conthant  and 
bewilderin'  theries  of  dithathters." 

"Well,  Chessie,"  chuckled  Barnsie,  "disasters  got  pretty  middlin' 
thick  along  the  last  of  it,  but  none  of  the  concluding  series  came 
your  way.  Here's  a  little  catastrophe,  now,  that  we'll  nip  in  the 
bud." 

He  was  reading  the  paper  that  Chessie  had  signed.  It  was  an 
order  for  the  banquet  that  had  just  been  devoured  by  the  self- 
constituted  Faculty.  After  they  had  destroyed  it,  Chessie  asked, 
"How  did  you  happen  to  come  to  my  rethcue,  Barnsie  ?" 

"I  chanced  to  hear  that  you  were  goin'  to  have  a  racket.  I  ar- 
rived on  a  later  train.  I  met  a  student  and  asked  him  where  any 
one  went  to  get  examined.  He  took  me  right  to  the  place,  and  I 
sustained  an  examination  they  won't  be  likely  to  forget  for  one 
while — eh,  Chessie?" 

Three  days  afterwards,  while  still  at  the  college  looking  after 
Chessie,  Barnes  received  a  stylish  letter :  "You  gave  it  to  them 
well,  especially  to  Fitzherbert  Netherwood.  I  have  read  Chessie's 
account  of  your  glorious  fight  in  his  behalf  to  mamma,  and  she 
has  visibly  softened  in  regard  to  you.  She  says,  'I  am  inclined 
to  think  there  is  something  good  in  that  young  man,  after  all.'  " 

Catch,  then,  O  catch  the  transient  hour; 

Improve  each  moment  as  it  flies ; 
Life's  a  short  summer — man  a  flower — 

He  dies — alas  !  how  soon  he  dies ! — Samuel  Johnson 


GRADUATION  DAY  25 

HER  GRADUATION. 


Virginia  Niles  Leeds. 


Characters:     Gladys,  a  girl. 
Grover,  a  dog. 

WELL,  old  man,  here  we  are,  out  of  school  at  last,  and  we 
know  it  all,  don't  we?  Shake  hands,  sir,  for  it's  the  hap- 
piest moment  of  our  lives.  They  may  talk  about  school-days  being 
our  happiest  days  but  don't  you  believe  it. 

Only  think,  my  dear  Grover,  of  never  having  to  look  into  an- 
other book  as  long  as  you  live.  Could  anything  be  more  simply 
enchanting?  And  of  not  having  to  obey  any  one  or  observe  rules. 
Great,  isn't  it?  The  poor  old  sages — were  there  seven  of  them? 
I  forget.  And  were  they  Greek  or  Roman  ?  I  am  a  bit  hazy  about 
that,  too.  They  thought  they  knew  a  heap,  but  they  were  not  a 
circumstance  to  the  girl  who  is  graduated  from  one  of  the  fash- 
ionable schools  of  to-day.  You  observe  that  I  say  "is  graduated." 
That  is  correct,  sir,  and  I  hope  you  will  never  make  the  mistake 
of  saying  anything  else.  Gladys  knows,  for  Gladys  "is  graduated" 
to-day. 

There  was  Themistocles  drinking  his  shamrock — it  was  The- 
mistocles,  wasn't  it,  who  drank  shamrock  rather  than  give  up  the 
pass  of  Thermopylae?  I  thought  so.  The  ancients  set  great  store 
by  him,  and  thought  he  knew  just  everything  on  earth,  but  I  rather 
think  we  could  give  him  cards  and  spades  to-day,  couldn't  we? 
Any  girl  who  has  been  at  Miss  Princeley's  for  ten  years  is  'way 
ahead  of  the  poor  old  ancients.  Let  me  see,  who  were  the  other 
sages?  Oh,  I  remember — the  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  Rameses  II., 
Issus,  Arbela.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  Grover,  my  boy,  education  is  a  great 
thing,  but  now  that  we've  finished  school  we'll  forget  it  as  soon  as 
we  can  and  proceed  to  the  real  business  of  life — which  is  having  a 
good  time. 

My  grandmamma  says  she  is  glad  I  came  out  so  well  in  my 


26  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  OS 

French,  that  I  shall  need  it  in  society.  Of  course,  I  came  out 
well.  I  can  conjugate  French  verbs  with  my  eyes  shut.  Espe- 
cially the  verb  aimer.  I  rather  think,  do  you  know,  that  that  verb 
is  going  to  be  useful  by  and  by.  Have  you  any  idea  what  grad- 
uation means,  you  poor  little  pop-eyed,  pug-nosed  thing?  No? 
I  thought  not.    Well,  I  will  tell  you. 

It  means  the  most  heavenly  white  frock,  all  trimmed  with  lace 
— real  lace,  of  course,  or  you  wouldn't  be  properly  graduated ; 
and  long,  long  gloves.  Then  your  hair  is  beautifully  dressed. 
Your  mamma  and  grandmamma  want  it  done  low,  because  you 
won't  be  eighteen  for  another  month,  but  you  insist  upon  it  high 
because  when  you  are  graduated  you  are  as  good  as  "out/'  and 
naturally  you  win  the  day,  for  you  are  graduated  once  only  in  a 
lifetime.  White  satin  slippers  and  white  open-work  stockings  and 
flowers !  If  every  boy  of  your  acquaintance  doesn't  come  to  time 
and  send  flowers,  you'll  never  speak  to  him  again,  so  there !  This 
is  what  graduation  means,  and  there  isn't  a  happier  time  in  your 
whole  life  or  a  lovelier  frock,  except  perhaps  the  wedding-day, 
when  you  get  a  few  more  presents  and  can  have  "Mrs."  on  your 
cards  and  wear  white  brocade  instead  of  Paris  muslin.  But  nat- 
urally Commencement  Day  leads  direct  to  the  wedding-day,  so 
you  won't  have  so  awfully  long  to  wait.  One  year  ought  to  do 
the  business. 

Yes,  sir,  this  is  the  whole  of  graduation,  and  you  have  it  in  a 
nutshell.  Isn't  it  funny  that  there  is  always  one  girl  in  every  class 
who  thinks  more  about  her  studies  than  her  frocks?  Lucy  Lent 
is  that  girl  in  our  class,  and  I  truly  pity  her.  She  has  always  had 
perfect  marks  in  everything,  from  deportment  to  metaphysics. 
What's  the  use  of  it  all?  Not  a  boy  has  ever  walked  home  with 
her,  and  I  bet  she  won't  have  a  flower  to-day !  She  doesn't  know 
how  to  make  fudge  and  seems  actually  to  prefer  algebra  to  danc- 
ing! She's  valedictorian  of  the  class,  and  I  just  know  she  will 
address  us  all  as  "my  beloved  classmates,"  and  speak  as  if  we 
were  going  to  die  to-morrow.  That  kind  of  a  girl  is  naturally  a 
dreadful  blight  on  a  class,  and  I  must  beg  you,  Grover,  never  to 


GRADUATION  DAY  27 

be  that  kind  of  a  girl.  Promise  me,  won't  you,  never  to  be  that 
kind  of  a  girl?  I  dare  say  Lucy  does  know  a  heap,  and  is  fully 
equipped  to  face  a  stern,  bleak  world,  but  she  will  never  be  popu- 
lar, and  what's  the  use  of  knowing  anything,  if  you're  not  popu- 
lar? Just  to  skim  through  somehow  and  to  understand  the  science 
of  having  a  good  time,  that's  been  my  rule,  and  I  am  willing  to 
wager  no  girl  ever  had  more  fun  than  I.  Grandpa  is  so  tire- 
some !  The  idea  of  his  asking  me  what  a  rhomboid  is.  Do  you 
know  what  a  rhomboid  is  ?  Does  anybody  know  what  a  rhomboid 
is?  But  grandpa  says  that  thousands  of  dollars  have  been  spent 
on  my  education,  and  that  I  have  been  to  the  most  widely-adver- 
tised school  in  the  country,  and  he  delights  in  asking  me  awful 
questions  about  isosceles  triangles— sounds  like  a  curse,  doesn't  it  ? 
and  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians.  At  the  breakfast-table 
he  asked  me  how  many  Punic  wars  there  were,  and  I  said  two. 
He  thought  to  floor  me  by  saying,  "Name  them."  But  I  named 
them  all  right,  and  that  was  one  time  when  grandpa  found  that 
the  thousands  spent  on  my  education  had  not  been  wasted.  I  said 
"First  and  Second." 

Mamma  is  nervous  about  my  mythology.  She  says  a  girl  isn't 
able  to  face  the  battles  of  life  without  a  knowledge  of  heathen 
mythology.  But  I  tell  her  not  to  worry;  that  she  can  just  take  me 
abroad  for  a  year,  and  in  the  galleries  of  Europe  I  can  get  ac- 
quainted with  the  gods  and  goddesses  so  that  I  shall  recognize 
them  when  I  meet  them  again  in  private  houses. 

Now,  let's  see,  what  have  I  learned  at  school  in  the  ten  years 
I  have  been  attending?  I  can  make  better  fudge  than  any  other 
girl  in  the  class,  and  have  read  more — that  is,  novels — than  any 
one  else  in  the  whole  school.  I  don't  suppose  my  music  would  set 
the  river  afire  exactly,  but  I  can  play  ragtime  as  well  as  anybody; 
and,  besides,  nobody  needs  to  play  these  days;  you  can  have  a 
pianola  and  get  as  much  music  as  you  want  out  of  a  perforated 
roll  of  yellow  paper.  I  have  my  diploma  for  German — and,  by 
the  way,  it's  the  dearest  diploma  you  ever  saw,  all  tied  up  in  white 
satin  ribbon  to  match  my  frock — but,  Grover,  if  I  found  myself 


28  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

in  Germany,  with  nobody  by  who  spoke  English,  and  I  wanted 
anything,  from  a  bun  to  a  needle,  I  couldn't  possibly  ask  for  it  to 
save  my  life.  It's  not  one  of  the  polite  languages,  and  nobody 
but  musicians  and  your  nursery  governess  ever  speak  it.  But  if  I 
can't  talk  German,  I  can  play  basket-ball  with  the  best  of  them, 
and  have  mastered  every  point  of  the  Rugby  game  of  football,  to 
say  nothing  of  baseball  and  cricket.  My  diploma  says  I  am  pro- 
ficient in  drawing,  and  that  means  that  I,  could  take  my  place  with 
Michael  Angelo  and  those  other  old  duffers  who  went  in  for  that 
sort  of  thing.  But  I  don't  want  to  take  my  place  with  them.  It 
would  be  a  perfect  nuisance  to  sit  up  in  a  gingham  apron  on  a 
high  stool  all  day  with  dirty  crayons.  I  wouldn't  mind  making  a 
few  pen-and-ink  sketches  of  lovely,  big,  broad-shouldered  men  and 
stylish  girls,  like  Mr.  Christy,  but  anything  beyond  that  I  shouldn't 
care  for  in  the  least. 

It's  so  tiresome  of  grandpa  to  ask  me  who  Phidias  was.  Of 
course,  I  know  he  was  the  man  who  built  the  pyramids,  or  sat  in 
his  chair  on  the  beach  and  told  the  waves  to  go  back — I  don't 
exactly  remember  which.  Ancient  history  isn't  my  forte  anyway. 
The  things  all  happened  so  long  ago  that  no  one  is  alive  who  re- 
members, and  I  don't  see  how  any  one  can  be  expected  to  know. 
One  thing  I  never  can  get  clear  in  my  mind  is,  whether  it  was 
Henry  the  Eighth  who  had  seven  wives  or  Henry  the  Seventh 
who  had  eight.  But  anyway,  whichever  it  was,  he  had  entirely 
too  many,  and  I  don't  see  what  he  wanted  them  for.  One  is  usu- 
ally enough  to  take  care  of. 

But  I  do  love  psychology.  I  think  it  just  the  cutest  study  in 
the  world,  and  if  anybody  begins  talking  it,  I'm  right  at  home. 
It's  such  a  lovely  jumble  of  words,  none  of  them  meaning  any- 
thing. I  wonder,  Grover,  if  they  talk  psychology  in  society.  I 
asked  grandpa,  and  he  said  gastronomy  was  much  more  in  its  line. 
I  don't  remember  having  studied  gastronomy  at  school,  but  I  must 
have,  as  I  studied  everything  on  the  list.  It  was  probably  in  the 
primary  department. 

Naturally,  when  your  diploma  tells  you  you  know  everything 


GRADUATION  DAY  29 

you  do  know  it,  and  whatever  your  grandpapa  and  mamma  may 
say  it  is  down  in  black  and  white  that  you  are  finished  and  per- 
fect in  all  the  different  branches.  Parents  and  grandparents  have 
such  a  curious  way  of  thinking  they  know  more  than  you  do ! 

I  wonder  what  Uncle  George  meant  when  he  said  I  would  now 
unlearn  everything,  and  proceed  to  get  some  real  understanding? 
Knowledge  is  power.  Shakespeare  or  Jeremy  Taylor — or  was  it 
Martin  Luther  ? — said  that,  and  it  is  quite  true,  but  you  never  real- 
ize it  fully  until  your  graduation  day.  There  are  just  two  things, 
however,  that  stand  out  above  and  beyond  everything  else.  One  is 
that  my  frock  is  going  to  be  the  darlingest  of  the  entire  gradua- 
tion class  and  is  sure  to  be  a  winner,  and  the  other  is  that  I'm 
going  to  throw  all  my  school-books  out  of  the  window  to-morrow. 
And — oh,  yes,  one  thing  more — that  you're  just  the  tootsiest, 
wootsiest  little  bow-wow  in  all  the  world ! 


HONORS  OF  THE  CLASS. 


Jean  K.  Baird. 


lit  I^RIENDS,  Romans,  Countrymen' — O  bother,  that  doesn't 
X  sound  well,  Hal.  Is  this  better?  'Friends,  Romans, 
Countrymen,  I  come  to  bury  Caesar' "  [sentence  ended  with  boy- 
ish laugh]. 

"Carl,  you  seem  to  consider  Caesar's  burial  a  circus.  Get  more 
feeling  into  that,  Carl.  This  way :  T  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to 
praise  him.'  " 

Carl  stood  straight.  "  'The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them.'  " 
He  seemed  to  have  caught  the  inspiration  now.  His  eyes  flashed, 
his  voice  was  clear.  Suddenly  a  bell  rang.  The  would-be  orator 
sprang  from  his  stump,  and  the  critic  got  up  from  the  grass. 
"I'm  not  going  back,"  said  Carl.  "We  have  no  class  this  morning. 
There's  a  fellow  down  there  I  must  see.  It  isn't  the  money  I  care 
for,  Hal.  When  it  comes  to  a  couple  of  hundred  a  year,  that's 
nothing  to  mother.     It's  the  honor  of  the  affair.     It's  a  good  bit 


30  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

of  satisfaction  to  know  you  can  do  something  well.  Mother  would 
be  delighted  if  I'd  be  first.  You  know  that  there  are  only  she  and 
I.  She  hasn't  a  plan  that  doesn't  concern  me.  It's  on  her  ac- 
count I  wish  to  take  the  scholarship.  She  wouldn't  think  whether 
it  meant  five  cents  or  five  millions.  It  would  be  the  honor.  That's 
why  I'm  working  so  hard.  It's  for  her  sake.  There's  only  one 
fellow  I'm  afraid  of.  That's  Ralph  Munson.  He's  a  worker,  and 
he's  good  at  an  oration.  He  lives  in  the  little  cottage  corner  of 
the  square.  He  hasn't  been  at  school  for  a  week.  I'm  going  there 
now  for  a  library  book." 

Carl  reached  the  one-story  cottage.  A  small  porch  ran  before 
the  house;  the  door  was  standing  ajar;  Carl  could  see  through  the 
small  hall  into  the  room  beyond.  He  rapidly  concluded  that  the 
Munsons  were  very  poor,  and  had  not  always  been  so.  The  drap- 
eries were  of  handsome  material,  but  patched  and  darned.  The 
rug  on  the  hall  had  been  an  expensive  Turkish  weave.  Voices 
reached  him,  and  unconsciously  he  listened. 

"I  do  not  think  it  wise  for  you  to  study  now,  dear;  you  might 
ruin  your  eyes  forever.     Be  content  to  rest  a  few  days." 

"I  can  rest  after  Commencement,  mother.  I  have  not  started 
my  oration  yet,  and  it's  less  than  three  weeks  until  Commence- 
ment.   I  must  get  that  scholarship  if  I " 

"Hush,  hush,  dear.  Do  not  count  so  much  on  it.  Remember 
how  many  other  boys  are  working,  and  that  one  boy  in  particu- 
lar  " 

"Carl?  He's  the  only  one  I'm  afraid  of.  He's  fine !  He  does 
better  before  an  audience  than  alone.  But  he  will  go  through  col- 
lege if  he  doesn't  get  the  scholarship.  It  means  only  'honor'  to 
him,  while  to  us  it  means  everything.  It  seems  wrong  to  me  to 
be  going  to  school  while  you  go  about  nursing.  I  want  to  be  edu- 
cated, but  I  don't  feel  like  sacrificing  my  mother  for  my  ambition. 
If  I  get  the  scholarship,  I  shall  go  on  and  finish;  if  I  don't,  I  shall 
give  up  and  go  to  work.     I  won't  have  you  struggle  for  me." 

Carl  suddenly  remembered  that  he  was  listening,  and  rang  the 


GRADUATION  DAY  31 

bell.  The  room  into  which  he  was  ushered  was  shabbier  than  the 
hall.     Ralph  lay  on  the  couch,  a  screen  shading  his  eyes. 

-'Why,  Munson,  how's  this?     We  didn't  know  you  were  sick!" 

"I'm  not.  My  eyes  are  weak;  cold  lias  settled  in  them,  just  at 
the  wrong  time,  too.'' 

"Oh,  you'll  get  through  on  your  class  record  if  you're  too  sick 
to  take  the  examinations." 

"It  isn't  the  exams  I'm  worrying  about.  I  don't  know  my  ora- 
tion yet :  if  my  eyes  don't  get  better  soon,  I  shall  have  to  give  that 
up.  Mother  started  reading  it  to  me,  but  she's  away  all  day; 
she  is  companion  to  an  old  lady  who  is  ill.  They  wanted  her  to 
stay  there,  but  she  wouldn't  leave  me.  It's  lonely  enough  with 
her  gone,  when  a  fellow  can't  study  or  read/' 

Carl  got  the  book  he  came  for.  "I  must  go,"  he  said  slowly. 
"If  you're  alone,  Munson,  and  don't  mind,  I  may  come  down  this 
evening-/' 


On  Commencement  Day  the  rostrum  was  filled  with  eager, 
flushed  faces,  while  below  the  chapel  was  a  scene  of  bright  gowns, 
roses,  and  fluttering  fans.  The  orations  proceeded  as  usual.  Carl's 
name  was  last,  and  Ralph's  just  before.  As  the  boy  before  him 
finished  Ralph's  face  relaxed,  and  he  glanced  down  to  where  his 
mother  sat.  With  a  manly  confidence  he  stepped  forward  and 
began  his  oration  on  "Ambition :  We  need  a  loftier  ideal  to  nerve 
us  for  heroic  lives."  As  he  proceeded  his  voice  grew  steady. 
"When  the  stately  monuments  of  mightiest  conquerers  shall  have 
become  shapeless  and  forgotten  ruins,  the  humble  graves  of  earth's 
Howards  and  Frys  will  still  be  freshened  by  the  tears  of  fondly 
admiring  millions,  and  the  proudest  epitaph  will  be  the  simple  en- 
treaty. 'Write  me  as  one  who  loved  his  fellow-men.' "  Applause 
rang  through  the  chapel.  Ralph  had  far  excelled  the  rest.  Col- 
lege and  college  joys  floated  before  him.  He  saw  how  bright  his 
success  had  made  his  mother.  But — how  he  dreaded  Carl !  for 
from  the  first  Carl  was  master  of  the  situation.     He  talked  as  eas- 


32  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

ily  as  though  conversing  with  the  boys.  Yet  his  nice  conception 
of  each  idea  and  his  rendition  were  worthy  of  an  Antony.  Ralph's 
face  grew  pale.     The  scholarship  was  slipping  from  him. 

"O  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts-,  and  men  have  lost 
their  judgment.  Bear  with  me;  my  heart  is  in  the  coffin  thc-e 
with  Caesar,  and  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me." 

Tears  sprang  to  Carl's  eyes,  for  he  saw  before  him  the  delicate, 
sad  face  of  Ralph's  mother.  The  resolution  he  had  made  hours 
before  came  back  to  him :  "Write  me  as  one  who  loved  his  fellow- 
men."  So,  in  that  part  of  the  oration  which  he  knew  best,  Carl 
stopped,  hesitated,  corrected  himself,  and  went  on.  But  the  one 
blunder  was  sufficient — the  scholarship  was  Ralph's.  As  the  chair- 
man arose  to  give  the  decision,  a  slender  woman  came  forward. 
"Pardon  my  interrupting,  gentleman, — I  feel  that  ycirr  decision  is 
in  favor  of  my  son."  The  judge  bowed  assent.  "I  must  explain 
to  you  that  from  a  point  of  honor  the  last  contestant  claims  It. 
For  two  weeks  Carl  has  read  Ralph's  oration  aloud  during  the 
evenings,  that  Ralph  might  learn  it.  I  have  heard  Carl  give  his 
oration  without  a  fault,  and  I  know  that  Carl's  one  fault  this  even- 
ing was  premeditated.  He  understood  what  the  scholarship  meant 
to  my  son,  and  placed  himself  second.  The  awarding  of  the  schol- 
arship rest3  with  you,  but  I  believe  this  explanation  is  due." 

The  judge  arose  to  speak,  but  his  voice  was  drowned  with  ap- 
plause. 

"Write  me  as  one  who  loved  his  fellow-men."  Ralph  was 
awarded  the  longed-for  prize,  but,  like  the  hero  of  the  old  story, 
Carl's  name  led  all  the  rest. 


Toiling,  rejoicing,  sorrowing, 
Onward  through  life  he  goes ; 
Each  morning  sees  some  task  begun, 
Each  evening  sees  its  close ; 
Something  attempted,  something  done, 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

— Henry  W .  Longfellow. 


GRADUATION  DAY  ZZ 

WHY  CLASS  A  GAVE  THANKS. 


Lucy  Copinger. 


CONNECTED  with  the  Teachers'  Institute  was  a  sort  of 
post-graduate  club,  small  in  its  numbers  but  snobbish.  This 
club  was  the  inner  circle  of  teacherdom,  It  was  known  as  the 
Society  of  Scholastic  Sociology,  which  title  was  perverted  by  en- 
vious outsiders  into  the  Sour  Spinster  Social.  Miss  Lucy,  teacher 
of  Class  A,  had  been  among  these  scoffers  until  the  time  came 
when  she  herself  was  invited  to  aspire  to  its  membership.  The 
requirements  for  admission  were  few  but  rigorous.  The  candi- 
date wrote  a  thesis  upon  some  problem  of  school-life,  and  was 
then  visited  in  her  school  by  a  committee  of  three,  who  listened  to 
the  working  out  of  the  problem..  Miss  Lucy  scorned  the  humbler 
phases  of  her  work,  and  took  for  her  subject  "A  Teacher's  Influ- 
ence upon  the  Moral  Tone  of  Her  Class."  A  week  before  Thanks- 
giving she  received  notice  that  the  committee  would  visit  her. 

Miss  Lucy,  clothed  in  foolish  confidence  and  her  very  best  shirt- 
waist, stood  before  Class  A,  and  the  dread  committee,  made  up  of 
two  men — principal  and  supervisor — and  a  visiting  teacher — a 
thin,  spectacled  spinster.  Miss  Lucy  had  taken  for  her  sub-topic 
"Why  We  Give  Thanks." 

"Children,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  a  holiday  we 
are  going  to  have  soon.     Who  knows  what  it  is?     Herman?" 

"Holler  Eve." 

"Oh,  no,  Herman,  not  Hallow  Eve.  It  is  Thanksgiving.  And 
now  who  can  tell  me  what  Thanksgiving  means  ?  What  do  we  do 
then,  Sophie?" 

"Miz  Lnzy,  efery  year  we  haf  a  party  mit  beer,  and  my  father 
gits  drunk,  and  my  mother  says  he  ain't  nothing  but  a  guzzler, 
and  my  father  says,  'Go  to  the  devil !' " 

"Yes,  Sophie,  dear — but " 

"And,  Miz  Luzy,  my  sister's  got  a  beau,  but  my  mother  says  he 
ain't  nothing  but  a  kissing-bug." 


34  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Miss  Lucy  looked  apprehensively  at  the  committee.  The  princi- 
pal was  shamelessly  amused,  but  the  supervisor,  a  correct  gentle- 
man, looked  pained,  and  the  blush  of  outraged  modesty  was  rising 
upon  the  cheek  of  the  visiting  teacher. 

"That  will  do,  Sophie.  Children,  some  of  you  can  surely  tell 
me  what  Thanksgiving  means.    Anna,  what  do  we  do  then?" 

"Nothun." 

"Oh,  yes,  Anna,  surely  you  can  think  of  something  you  do  on 
Thanksgiving." 

"Nothun." 

At  this  moment  an  inspiration  seized  Bum  O'Reilly.  His  Irish 
tact  had  told  him  that  some  especial  answer  was  desired  by  Miss 
Lucy.  He  remembered  that  she  had  always  shown  an  interest  in 
the  additions  to  his  family. 

"We  got  a  baby  last  Thanksgivun,"  he  volunteered,  "but  we 
ain't  goin'  to  git  none  this  year." 

Miss  Lucy  hastily  interrupted. 

"Yes,  yes,  James;  but  what  is  it  you  and  all  of  us  should  do 
every  day,  but  more  than  ever  on  Thanksgiving  Day?" 

"You  should  clean  your  teeth  and  wash  yourself  all  over,"  said 
Josef  Bureschy. 

"We  give  thanks,"  said  correct  Marie  Schaefer,  the  only  mem- 
ber of  Class  A  who  ever  knew  anything. 

Miss  Lucy  took  fresh  heart.  ■' 

"Yes,  we  give  thanks,  that  is  what  we  should  do  on  Thanksgiv- 
ing Day.  And  now  who  can  be  very  smart  and  tell  me  to  whom 
we  give  thanks?" 

Bum  answered  this  promptly. 

"The  blessed  Virgin  Mary  and  all  the  holy  saints." 

"Miz  Luzy,  it  ain't  so !"  indignantly  cried  Sophie.  "Don't  you 
believe  him.  I  go  to  the  Luthurum  Sunday  School,  and  there  ain't 
nobody  but  God  and  Martin  Luthurum,  and  my  mother  says  Bum 
O'Reilly  worships  idols." 

"It's  the  blessed  Virgin  Mary,  I'm  tellin'  ye,  and  I'll  bust  yer 
face  if  ye  don't  shut  up !"  cried  Bum. 


GRADUATION  DAY  35 

"James,  that  will  do.  I  am  surprised  at  your  language.  Now 
who  can  tell  me  why  we  give  thanks?  Who  can  think  of  some- 
thing nice  that  he  is  thankful  for?" 

Frederick  William's  face  brightened. 

"Well,  Frederick,  what  are  you  thankful  for?" 

"The  gizzard." 

It  was  then  that  Miss  Lucy  gave  up  the  fight.  The  visiting 
teacher  came  forward. 

"Let  me  speak  to  the  little  ones,"  she  said  condescendingly. 

Miss  Lucy  sat  down  meekly.  She  looked  at  the  supervisor,  and 
was  surprised  to  see  him  wink  at  her. 

The  visiting  teacher,  bespectacled,  scant  of  hair,  sour-visaged, 
stood  before  Class  A.  In  reproof  to  the  frivolous  fluffiness  of 
Miss  Lucy's  lingeries,  she  wore  a  basque  buttoned  tightly  down 
the  front;  it  came  down  in  a  point  in  the  back.  Miss  Lucy  won- 
dered if  this  costume  was  the  required  uniform  of  "scholastic  so- 
ciology." The  visiting  teacher's  manner  was  openly  hilarious. 
"Lift  them  up !"  was  her  creed.  "Carry  them  along  with  you  on 
the  wave  of  your  vitality." 

"Little  boys  and  girls,"  she  began,  "open  your  little  eyes,  open 
your  little  ears,  open  your  little  hearts,  and  listen  and  look  just  as 
hard !"  As  she  spoke,  she  illustrated  her  remarks  upon  the  child 
in  the  front  seat,  who  happened  to  be  Frederick  William;  it  was 
a  painful  shock  to  this  most  dignified  of  Miss  Lucy's  scholars  to 
have  his  eyebrows  pulled  up,  his  ears  tweaked,  to  be  gently  poked 
in  the  stomach,  and,  as  a  climax,  to  receive  a  rap  on  the  head. 
His  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  he  looked  beseechingly  at  Miss 
Lucy.  Miss  Lucy's  attention  was  engaged  elsewhere.  A  loudly 
whispered  conversation  was  being  carried  on  between  Sophie 
Bauerschmidt  and  Anna  Karenina.  The  visiting  teacher  caught 
sight  of  Anna's  extended  tongue.  "Little  girl !  little  girl !"  she  said 
reproachfully.     "Why,  little  girl !" 

Sophie  sniggered,  but  Anna  glowered  threateningly. 

"Id  ain'd  my  fauld,"  she  said.  "She  says  him's" — pointing  ac- 
cusingly at  the  supervisor — "her  father,  and  you're  her  mother, 


36  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

und  you  ain'd.  Onct  I  seen  Miz  Luzy's  mother,  und  she  ain'd  so 
old  ad  all." 

After  school  the  principal  came  to  Miss  Lucy. 

"You  didn't  pass,"  he  said.  "You  made  a  good  try,  and  the 
supervisor  and  I  would  have  let  you  in,  but  I  don't  think  the — er — 
maternal  idea  exactly  appealed  to  our  distinguished  colleague." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Miss  Lucy,  "I  guess  it's  for  the  best.  I  never 
could  have  dressed  the  part  anyhow.  I'd  have  to  pickle  my  face, 
and  put  my  clothes  all  on  backward." 


CULTURE  IN  SIX  WEEKS. 


MARY  ANN  came  from  the  west,  and  the  object  of  her  visit 
was  to  perfect  herself  in  piano,  singing,  dancing,  elocu- 
tion, Delsarte,  English  literature,  French,  German,  Italian,  palm- 
istry, etc.  Mary  Ann's  arrival  was  preceded  by  concisely  worderl 
warnings  addressed  to  prominent  exponents  of  the  arts  named. 

"Respected  Sir:     I  shall  arrive  in  your  city  on  or  before 
the  15th  hist,,  to  remain  six  weeks,  during  which  time    I 

desire   to   take   a    complete   course  in  .     I    shall   pay 

cash    (in   advance),   and   shall   expect  the    best   quality   of 
instruction  obtainable.  Respectfully  yours, 

"Mary  Ann   Perkins." 

The  copy  of  the  above  which  was  addressed  to  the  professor  of 
Delsarte  awaited,  unopened,  his  return  from  Europe.  At  ths  mo- 
ment he  tore  open  the  envelope  Mary  Ann  was  coming  up  in  the 
elevator. 

"Oh,  these  Americans,  these  Americans !"  he  said. 

"Well,  what  have  these  Americans  done  now?"  inquired  Miss 
Whitney,  his  assistant. 

"Why,  they  are  always  insisting  on  a  complete  course  of  some- 
thing in  six  weeks.     Over  in  Europe  now " 

At  that  moment  Mary  Ann  entered  the  office. 

"Are  you  Prof.  Samuel  Johnson?"  she  asked.  "Well,  I  am 
Mary  Ann  Perkins.     You  received  my  letter,  I  presume?" 


GRADUATION  DAY  37 

Mr.  Johnson  said  that  he  had  just  finished  reading-  Miss  Per- 
kins's letter. 

"Then  you  know  what  I  require,"  said  Mary  Ann,  drawing  off 
her  gloves.  "We  will  begin  at  once,  if  you  please.  It  is  now  ten 
o'clock.  At  eleven  I  have  an  engagement  with  my  French  teacher, 
at  one  I  am  expected  by  my  piano  instructor,  from  three  to  four 
I  shall  be  employed  with  my  vocal  master,  and  from  that  time  until 
six  I  shall  be  dancing,  reciting,  and  reading  Chaucer.  My  even- 
ings will  be  devoted  to  a  course  of  lectures  on  the  literature  of  the 
Elizabethan  period.  So  I  will  call  at  ten  precisely  every  day. 
Kindly  conduct  me  to  the  teacher  of  Delsarte?" 

"Miss  Whitney,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  "you  will  please  take  charge 
of  Miss  Perkins." 

Miss  Whitney  saw  before  her  a  bright-looking  girl.  Her  pos- 
ture'was  abnormally  erect.  One  of  her  shoulders  was  higher  than 
the  other,  and  both  were  thrown  back  till  every  effect  of  grace 
was  destroyed.  Mary  Ann  also  toed  in  a  little  and  carried  her 
hands  with  palms  forward. 

"And  so,"  said  her  teacher,  "you  desire  a  complete  course  of 
Delsarte  in  six  weeks.  If  you  were  persevering  you  might  get  it 
in  six  years." 

"Well,"  replied  Mary  Ann,  "you  can  surely  teach  a  person 
something  in  six  weeks?" 

"Oh,  yes ;  you  can  learn  to  keep  your  shoulders  on  a  level." 

"That's  what  I  am  here  for." 

"And  to  stand  erect  and  yet  allow  each  portion  of  the  body  to 
remain  in  its  natural  position." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  most  wish  to  learn,"  said  Mary  Ann, 
earnestly. 

"And  you  might  improve  some  in  the  manner  in  which  you  use 
your  hands." 

"I  am  satisfied,"  said  Mary  Ann.     "Let  us  begin  at  once." 

*  *  *  *  -/■         ■        -i- 

Mary  Ann  had  determined  to  take  her  elocution  of  Prof. 
Josephus. 


38  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

"Yes,"  said  the  Professor,  "I  received  your  letter.  You  had 
better  go  home." 

"I  shall  go  home  in  six  weeks,"  replied  Mary  Ann,  "and  not 
before.     No  doubt,  I  can  find  someone  else  who " 

"Why,  girl,"  interrupted  the  professor,  "you  can't  learn  to  say 
'HO !'  in  six  weeks.     Let  me  hear  you  try  it  now — 'Ho !' " 

"Ho!"  said  Alary  Ann. 

"Why,  you  can't  learn  in  six  weeks  how  to  distinguish  between 
your  larynx  and  your  epiglottis." 

"But  surely,"  persisted  Mary  Ann,  "one  can  learn  how  to  recite 
something  simple  and  touching  in  six  weeks." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can  learn  how  to  recite  'Curfew  Shall  Not  Ring 
To-night/  and  perhaps  one  or  two  other  selections." 

"Then,"  answered  Mary  Ann,  "we  will  begin  at  once,  if  you 
please." 

^<  *  *  *  *  * 

Mary  Ann  was  only  too  well  aware  that  there  was  something 
not  entirely  graceful  about  her  walk,  and  she  had  naturally  con- 
cluded that  a  competent  master  of  dancing  was  the  proper  person 
to  supply  the  deficiency.  M.  Benari,  to  whom  she  applied,  was 
amazed. 

"Vat !"  he  exclaimed,  "you  t'ink  you  learn  ze — vat  you  call  ? — 
ze  poetry  of  motion— ze  dance — in  seex  veeks  !  Mais,  non,  nevair." 

"But  you  can  surely  teach  me  something  in  six  weeks?" 

"Zat  is  vairy  true.  In  seex  veeks  you  may  learn  von  leetle  pas 
seul — not  more." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mary  Ann,  "let  us  begin  at  once." 

^  %  ■%  >|c  5jc  ^; 

But  Prof.  Meissonier,  the  French  master  to  whom  Mary  Ann 
applied,  would  not  be  placated. 

"Seex  veeks !"  he  said.  "It  is  ze  most  perfait  nonsense.  You 
learn  in  seex  veeks  not  more  zan  ze  first  chaptaire  of  ze  gram- 
maire." 

"I  don't  care  so  much  about  the  grammar/'  said  Mary  Ann, 


GRADUATION  DAY  39 

"What  I  want  is  some  easy  conversational  lessons  that  will  enable 
me  to " 

"Ah,  yes ;  I  comprehend.  Ah,  yes,  you  vant  ze  easy  conver- 
sation. Veil,  you  go  and  find  one  teachair  of  ze  Meisterschaft 
System  and  you  learn  ze  French  language — oh,  you  learn  him 
splendid  in  seex  veeks  V 

So  Mary  Ann  took  up  the  Meisterschaft  System,  in  which  she 
made  such  rapid  progress  that  after  six  lessons  she  could  "polly 
voo"  quite  fluently. 

When,  at  the  end  of  the  six  weeks,  she  returned  to  her  home, 
her  improved  appearance  was  the  talk  of  the  town.  Her  position 
as  belle  was  no  longer  disputed  by  the  eldest  Jones  girl.  Her 
piano  playing,  her  singing,  her  elocution,  her  palmistry,  her  knowl- 
edge of  defunct  poets,  and  her  drawing  provoked  general  admira- 
tion. It  was  her  Meisterschaft  French,  however,  that  astonished 
the  natives.  At  the  table  it  no  longer  was  "Please  pass  the 
cheese,"  but  "Donny  maw  lee  fromage,  see  voo  play."  Never  again 
did  she  ejaculate,  "How  beautiful!"  but  "Say  too  see  kong  pew 
vwar  de  plew  bow."  All  her  "good  evenings"  were  "bong  swors," 
and  all  her  "good  days"  "bong  jours."  It  all  went  in  her  rustic 
home.  Mary  Ann  had  scores  of  admirers,  and  the  next  year  the 
rustics  left  town  by  hundreds  for  a  six  weeks'  course  in  the  city 
that  had  so  reincarnated  Mary  Ann. 


DEEPWATER   DEBATE. 


May  McHenry. 


DEEPWATER  boasted  not  only  the  best  speller  in  the  val- 
ley but  the  champion  debating-club.  The  champion  speakers 
were  the  three  Barton  boys — Daniel,  Cyrus  and  Silas, — and  Cad- 
wallader  Evans,  the  school-teacher.  The  fame  of  these  rustic  ora- 
tors filled  the  land ;  so  one  eventful  day  there  came  an  invitation 
for  the  Deepwater  Debating-Club  to  meet  in  discussion  members 
of  the  Flowerville  Lyceum.    The  Deepwater  Club  jumped  at  the 


40  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  SS 

challenge.  The  Flowerville  Lyceum  was  a  social  and  literary  as- 
sociation counting  among  its  members  some  of  the  most  cultured 
young  people  in  the  county-seat.  The  Big  Four  suspected  that 
the  challenge  had  been  sent  in  a  spirit  of  levity.  It  was  a  chance 
to  prove  their  mettle.  An  expectant  circle  at  Gilly's  store  awaited 
Daniel  Barton,  returned  from  a  meeting  with  the  Lyceum  Com- 
mittee. 

"It's  all  settled,"  Daniel  announced.  "The  debate  will  be  in  two 
weeks,  to  be  held  at  the  Deepwater  schoolhouse,  followed  by  a 
supper  at  Boyd's  hotel.  If  the  sleighing  holds  out,  the  youth  and 
beauty  of  Flowerville  will  come  up  in  two  large  sleds,  each  drawn 
by  four  prancing  horses." 

"Who  are  they  going  to  put  up  against  us,  Dan'l?"  his  brothers 
demanded. 

"To  begin  with,  there  is  the  young  Baptist  preacher,  the  Rev- 
erend S.  M.  Smith." 

"I  know  him,"  Cyrus  exclaimed ;  "a  pretty  speaker,  but  too 
flowery  for  a  debater.  He  will  be  quoting  poetry  when  he  ought 
to  be  making  points." 

"Lawyer  Bleasley " 

"He  knows  more  than  he  can  tell." 

"Frank  G.  Potter " 

"Um-n.     Windy  Potter!    Who  is  the  other  one?" 

"Sternger,  Al  Sternger." 

Daniel  mentioned  the  last  name  constrainedly.  The  school- 
teacher rubbed  his  hands  with  enthusiasm. 

"There  is,  indeed,  an  eloquent  speaker,  an  opponent  worthy  of 
our  highest  efforts." 

"Don't  you  want  to  know  the  question  we  are  to  discuss?" 
Daniel  chuckled.  "  'Tis  a  great  question,  'War  and  Intemperance : 
Resolved,  That  war  has  brought  more  suffering  upon  the  human 
race  than  the  intemperate  use  of  intoxicating  drinks.' '; 

The  Deepwater  debaters  had  been  brought  up  on  "War  and  In- 
temperance ;"  it  had  been  the  pap  of  their  oratorical  infancy,  and 
meat  and  drink  as  they  developed. 


GRADUATION  DAY  41 

"Mr.  William  Herrington  chose  the  subject.  He  is  president 
of  their  lyceum.  He  said  it  was  their  desire  to  select  a  subject  that 
was  likely  to  have  been  under  previous  consideration  by  us.  As 
the  challenged  party,  we  had  the  choice  of  sides,  so  I  took  the 
affirmative." 

"Well,  for  my  part,  I'm  glad  it  is  goin'  to  be  about  something 
we're  all  used  to  and  can  understand,"  the  storekeeper  broke  in. 

"I  like  to  hear  something  I  know.  It's  like  listening  to  a  band 
play.  You  try  to  think  it's  pretty  while  they're  tootin'  out  trilly- 
oo-la-las,  but  you  don't  have  any  quivers  inside  until  they  strike 
up  '  'Way  Down  upon  the  Suwanee  River.' " 

For  two  weeks  Deepwater  tingled  in  expectancy.  When  the 
eventful  night  arrived,  the  school-house  was  crowded  to  the  ut- 
most, with  visitors  from  Flowerville  occupying  front  seats.  Daniel 
happened  to  be  at  the  door  when  the  young  lawyer,  Al  Sternger, 
entered  with  a  pretty  young  woman.  Daniel's  greeting  was  mark- 
edly stiff,  and  he  turned  a  grim  face  upon  his  cousin,  Delilah. 

"Why,  Daniel !  You  do  not  look  as  though  you  expected  to 
win,"  Delilah  exclaimed.  "I  do  hope  you  are  going  to  do  your 
best." 

"What  is  the  use  of  pretending,  Delilah?"  Daniel  growled.  "We 
all  know  where  your  sympathies  are." 

Delilah's  cheeks  were  pinker  than  usual  as  she  followed  her  es- 
cort to  a  seat.  She  made  no  reply  when  Mr.  Sternger  complacent- 
ly remarked  that  her  relative  seemed  to  be  a  victim  of  the  green- 
eyed  monster.  The  Deepwater  Club  was  to  select  one  judge,  the 
debaters  from  Flowerville  were  to  bring  with  them  a  second,  and 
the  two  thus  provided  were  to  agree  upon  a  third  who  was  to  be 
chairman.  Daniel  exclaimed  in  surprise  when  Hank  Edgar,  who 
was  Deepwater's  judge,  told  him  their  choice  of  chairman  was 
Mr.  Ed  Bogart,  an  ex-schoolmaster,  equally  noted  for  learning 
and  brilliant  lack  of  veracity. 

"He's  all  right ;  he'll  preside  with  eggclau.  I  have  him  fixed," 
Hank  asserted.  "He's  owed  me  a  big  store-bill  for  years,  and  I 
shut  down  on  him.     Yesterday  he  boned  me  about  opening  an 


42  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

account  again.  I  switched  him  off  onto  the  debate,  and  told  him 
'twas  my  opinion  he'd  make  an  ornate  judge.  That  took  him.  I 
told  him  'twas  a  matter  of  local  pride  to  want  our  own  side  to 
win,  and  that  I  myself  was  anxious  you  boys  should  get  the  verdict 
to  the  extent  of  being  willing  to  give  a  due-bill  for  ten  dollars  in 
the  cause  of  justice.    That  fixed  him." 

"Oh,  righteous  judge !"  laughed  Daniel.  "Look  here,  Hank,  if 
we  are  licked,  that  would  not  do." 

"That's  all  right,  Dannie.  You  go  ahead  and  do  your  best. 
Whatever  you  win,  I'll  see  that  you  get  it;  that's  my  business." 

The  speakers  from  Flowerville  were  really  anxious  to  let  their 
Deepwater  friends  down  easily,  and  their  first  speaker  spent  nearly 
all  of  his  time  in  saying  so. 

•  "Better  be  preparing  for  their  own  obsequies,  instead  of  gather- 
ing flowers  for  our  fellows'  graves.  They  don't  seem  to  know 
what  they  are  up  against,"  an  outside  critic  observed  audibly, 
through  a  broken  window-glass,  and  was  called  to  order. 

By  the  time  the  first  speaker  for  the  affirmative  had  ripped  his 
courteous  friend  of  the  negative  up  the  back,  by  the  time  he  had 
sketched  in  war  such  lurid  colors  as  made  Sherman  seem  tame  and 
inadequate,  by  that  time  the  over-confident  Flowerville  crowd  be- 
gan to  have  a  faint  conception  of  what  they  were  up  against.  The 
Deepwater  debaters  had  worked  hard.  They  were  ready  to  flaunt 
all  the  blood-dyed  pages  of  history  from  the  siege  of  Troy  to  Bull 
Run.  They  daunted  them;  they  touched  upon  the  ethical,  the 
national,  the  commercial  perniciousness  of  armed  strife,  and  ex- 
pressed lofty  sentiments  worthy  of  a  peace  congress.  It  is  not  to 
be  denied  that  their  opponents  spoke  well  on  the  side  of  intemper- 
ance. Yet,  somehow,  the  polished  rhetoric  failed  to  impress  the 
audience,  as  did  the  familiar  famous  passage  in  which  Cyrus  Bar- 
ton  demonstrated  mathematically  on  the  blackboard  that  the 
human  blood  shed  in  battle,  if  collected,  would  submerge  the  nar- 
row valley  of  the  Deepwater  from  hilltop  to  hilltop. 

"Conceive  of  that,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "Think  of 
the  vast,  vernal  cup  of  these  hills  filled  with  such  a  draught  for  the 


GRADUATION  DAY  43 

devil  as  that.  Then,  remember  that  this  sea  of  blood  represents 
at  least  fourteen  millions  of  slain  men,  and  that  for  every  slain 
man  there  came  a  moan  from  the  lips  of  some  woman.  Ah,  those 
moans  of  women !  My  friends,  they  unite  in  a  mighty  wail  of 
human  agony  that  shakes  the  stars  and  thunders  at  the  throne  of 
God,  crying  out  against  war !" 

However  it  might  be  with  the  judges,  it  was  evident  that  the 
audience  was  for  war.  Al  Sternger,  who  had  the  closing  speech 
for  the  negative,  felt  that  something  must  be  done.  The  brilliant 
young  member  of  the  bar  stepped  outside  and  regarded  the  stars 
while  he  tipped  a  silver-mounted  flask.  Then  he  went  in  and 
made  a  fluent,  fiery  speech  on  intemperance,  and  he  told  a  story. 
He  described  a  drunkard's  home — the  fireless  room,  the  starving 
children,  the  heart-broken  mother,  the  terror  of  the  shuffling  foot- 
steps on  the  stair.  He  made  them  feel  the  hunger  and  the  shame, 
and  the  heart-break,  until  half  the  people  in  the  room  were  openly 
wiping  away  tears.  Deepwater  partisans  looked  blank.  Even 
Cyrus  and  Silas  Barton  looked  interrogatively  at  Daniel,  who  was 
to  follow  Mr.  Sternger,  closing  the  debate. 

Daniel  was  reading  something  that  had  been  passed  to  him  from 
the  other  side  of  the  room.  Calmly,  almost  monotonously,  he  be- 
gan his  summing  up.  His  friends  fidgeted.  Was  he  not  going  to 
do  something? 

"And  now,  Mr.  Chairman,"  he  said,  "I  approach  the  extraordi- 
nary speech  of  the  gentleman  who  preceded  me."  He  eulogized 
that  speech;  he  told  how  proud  he  was  to  live  in  a  county  that 
could  produce  so  eloquent  a  speaker.  "If  we  push  aside  the  flow- 
ery language  to  get  at  the  gist  of  the  matter,  however,  we  find  no 
real  argument.  That  story  cannot  be  accepted,  because  of  the  un- 
reliability of  its  source.  One  of  the  chief  questions  with  regard 
to  all  evidence  is  the  source.  The  speaker  did  not  give  his  story 
as  from  his  own  experience,  nor  did  he  tell  where  he  got  it.  Had 
I  been  in  his  place,  I,  too,  should  have  been  ashamed  to  tell  where 
I  got  it.  Mr.  President,  we,  of  the  affirmative,  quoted  from  such 
lofty  authorities  as  Hume,  Gibbon,  Josephus,  yea,  even  Holy  Writ. 


44  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Behold  the  scholarly  volume  from  which  the  other  side  quoted." 
He  drew  a  small,  crumpled  paper  book  from  his  pocket.  "This 
weighty  authority  is  known  to  all  who  have  been  threatened  by 
gout,  spleen,  measles,  mumps,  or  spinal  meningitis,  as  well  as  to 
those  who  would  consult  the  signs  of  the  zodiac  and  the  phases  of 
the  moon.  Yes,  it  is  an  almanac — a  Vinegar  Bitters  advertisement 
almanac,  and  it  is  last  year's  almanac  at  that !" 

The  debate  ended  in  a  roar  of  laughter.  After  a  lengthy  session, 
the  judges  returned  and  the  chairman  announced  that  the  decision 
was  two  to  one  in  favor  of  the  affirmative. 

Hank  Edgar  alone  looked  glum. 

"If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  old  Ananias  and  Sapphira  of  an  Ed 
Bogart,  we'd  a  given  you  the  decision  unanimous,"  he  told  Daniel. 

"The  Flowerville  judge  was  with  me  from  the  start." 

"I  thought  you  had  Ed  fixed." 

"So  I  had  and  so  had  Sternger — at  a  leetle  higher  figger." 

Daniel  Barton's  sister  had  accompanied  him  to  the  school-house, 
but  when  they  came  to  start  for  the  supper  at  the  tavern  she  mur- 
mured :  "You  will  not  care,  will  you,  Dan  ?"  and  whirled  away  in 
the  sleigh  of  a  young  farmer  from  up  the  creek. 

"Don't  take  it  to  heart,  Dannie,"  he  was  advised.  "Put  on  a 
bold  front  and  steal  some  other  fellow's  girl." 

A  sudden,  reckless  impulse  prompted  Daniel  to  turn  to  his 
cousin.  "Are  you  ready,  Delilah?"  he  asked,  just  as  though  she 
had  not  stopped  riding  in  his  sleigh  two  years  before.  Greatly  to 
his  surprise,  and  greatly  to  the  surprise  of  onlookers,  and  of  the 
young  lawyer  in  the  next  sleigh,  Delilah  permitted  Daniel  to  swing 
her  in  under  his  buffalo  robe.     - 

"Have  you  and  Sternger  quarreled?"  Daniel  demanded. 

"No.    However,  I  think  it  quite  likely  that  we  shall,  don't  you  ?" 

"How  did  you  come  to  know  about  that  story  ?"  he  asked. 

Delilah  laughed.  "When  you  saw  that  almanac,  Daniel,  were 
you  not  just  a  little  bit  ashamed  of  the  remark  you  made  to  me  as 
I  went  in  ?" 


GRADUATION  DAY  45 

"Yes.  I  am  always  ashamed  when  I  say  such  things  to  you. 
I  wish  you  would  explain." 

Delilah  laughed  again.  "Mr.  Sternger  came  to  our  house  early 
this  evening,  and  while  we  were  waiting,  he  picked  up  the  almanac 
and  read  that  story  aloud.  In  a  flash  it  struck  me  that  he  intended 
to  use  it  in  the  debate.  As  we  went  out  I  slipped  die  almanac 
into  my  muff.    You  know  the  rest." 

"Deli,  you  are  a  brick  and  a  patriot !  But  you  have  not  ex- 
plained why  you  are  here  with  me." 

Delilah  dropped  her  head.  "It  was  your  fault,  Daniel.  You 
challenged  me.  Besides  it  was  the  first  thing  you  had  asked  me 
since — in  a  long  time,  and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  long  ago  to — 
to  do  the  first  thing  you  asked." 

"Why  are  you  driving  so  very  slowly?  Nearly  every  one  has 
passed  us.    What  will  they  think?" 

"That  I  am  proposing  to  you  for  the  fourth  time,  no  doubt." 

"But  you  are  not !" 

"No ;  I  swore  I  would  not,  didn't  I  ?    Look  here,  Deli !" 

They  had  reached  the  cross-roads.  Just  ahead,  blazing  with 
.ights  was  the  tavern.  To  the  right,  a  level  road  stretched  out  into 
the  silent  night. 

"Daniel,  where ?" 

fTo  Paradise !"  Daniel  answered,  as  he  kissed  her. 


Now  the  bright  morning  star,  day's  harbinger. 
Comes  dancing  from  the  east,  and  leads  with  her 
The  flowery  May,  who  from  her  green  lap  throws 
The  yellow  cowslip  and  the  pale  primrose. 
Hail,  bounteous  May,  that  doth  inspire 
Mirth  and  youth  and  warm  desire. 
Woods  and  groves  are  of  thy  dressing, 
Hill  and  dale  doth  boast  thy  blessing, 
Thus  we  salute  thee  with  our  early  song, 
And  welcome  thee,  and  wish  thee  long. 

— John  Milton. 


46  WERNER'S  READINGS  MO.  55 

WOMEN  AND  THE  SALOON. 


Samuel  Dickie. 


OPEN  wide  the  doors  and  admit  that  glorious  company  of 
women,  a  million  strong,  who  come  from  every  quarter  of 
the  globe.  See  them  press  eagerly  to  the  front,  singing  as  they 
come.  A  bow  of  white  ribbon  is  on  every  breast.  This  is  the 
splendid  army,  the  hopeful  host,  the  swordless  warriors  of  a  win- 
ning battle,  the  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union.  How  shall 
we  divide  these?  I  want  to  be  fair.  I  mean  to  be  generous,  but 
I  cannot  put  a  stain  on  the  brow  of  one  member  of  this  galaxy  of 
mothers  and  sisters  and  wives  and  sweethearts.  No,  Mr.  Mayor, 
not  one  of  this  company  in  all  the  earth  will  stand  with  your 
saloonkeepers  and  bartenders  and  gamblers,  not  one  of  this  elect 
host  will  contribute  a  word  or  an  ounce  of  influence  to  save  the 
saloon  from  the  hell  to  which  it  ought  to  go.  They  will  use  their 
best  endeavor  to  save  the  saloonkeeper  and  his  victim,  but  for  the 
saloon  they  carry  the  black  flag  that  means  no  quarter,  and  they 
will  yet  walk  at  the  funeral  of  the  Godless  thing. 

Here  comes  another  company  of  women,  ten  thousand,  twenty 
thousand,  fifty  thousand,  a  hundred  thousand  of  them, — the  poor, 
unfortunate  and  unhappy  victims  of  man's  inhumanity  to  woman. 
God  forbid  that  I  should  speak  of  them  in  other  than  the  tone  of 
sympathy  and  the  accent  of  sorrow,  for  they  present  the  most  piti- 
ful sight  on  which  the  eye  can  rest.  But  how  will  this  miserable 
and  motley  company  divide?  Will  they  all  go  yonder?  No,  a  few 
with  streaming  eyes  and  heaving  bosoms  and  trembling  limbs  will 
throw  themselves  into  the  arms  of  the  white  ribbon  women  and 
beg  for  another  chance,  and  get  the  help  they  seek.  The  great 
majority,  some  gladly,  some  heedlessly,  some  reluctantly,  will 
range  themselves  on  the  other  side  and  stand  for  vice  because,  God 
pity  them,  because  they  think  they  must. 

Wipe  out  the  saloon,  and  the  social  evil  becomes  an  easier  prob- 
lem. Liquor  inflames  and  arouses  the  evil  propensities  of  those 
who  are  the  patrons  of  the  horrid  trade. 


GRADUATION  DAY  47. 

WHO  OWNED  THE  SPOONS? 


Fidelia  Fountain. 


WHEN  Mrs.  Elisa  Fountain  was  a  young  woman  she  taught 
in  a  country  school  until  she  had  saved  money  enough  to 
indulge  her  great  desire  for  a  set  of  silver  spoons.  She  was  mar- 
ried soon  after  to  the  young  man  of  her  choice.  Six  years  passed 
by,  years  of  hard  work  and  economy  by  both,  happy  years,  though 
no  children  had  come  to  bless  their  union,  when  by  a  sudden  ill- 
ness her  husband  was  taken  away.  The  day  after  the  funeral  the 
grieved  wife  was  surprised  by  the  entrance  into  her  home  of  the 
two  brothers  of  her  husband, bringing  with  them  the  village  lawyer. 
They  told  her  they  had  come  to  set  a  value  upon  their  brother's 
property,  in  order  that  she  might  know  what  part  of  it  was  hers. 
She  held  her  peace  as  they  set  down  the  worth  of  each  article  of 
furniture  in  her  little  home,  until  they  finally  came  to  the  box  of 
spoons. 

Then  she  spoke,  "These  are  mine.  I  bought  them  with  my  own 
money  before  I  was  married." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  lawyer,  "but  you  know,  ma'am,  that 
after  a  lady  is  married,  everything  belongs  in  law  to  her  husband." 

So  all  the  little  property  was  divided,  the  brothers  taking  half, 
and  she  took  the  spoons  with  her  share,  at  the  price  that  had  been 
set  upon  them.  But  it  obliged  her  to  give  up  the  home  and  she, 
with  her  few  effects,  went  into  rented  rooms  and  began  life  anew. 
Occasionally  teaching  a  school,  and  always  sewing  if  possible, 
she  supported  herself  very  comfortably  for  about  three  years.  Then 
a  life-long  friend  of  her  husband  offered  her  his  hand  in  marriage. 
She  liked  him  well  and  she  thought  with  pleasure  of  again  being 
mistress  of  a  home.    So  they  were  married. 

In  a  few  years  the  husband's  health  declined,  and  for  many 
months  she  gave  him  most  tender  and  unceasing  care.  She  had  a 
few  times  spoken  to  him  about  making  a  will,  but,  as  it  seemed 
an  unpleasant  subject,  she  ceased  to  mention  it.     Finally  the  end 


48  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  05 

came.  There  came  to  attend  the  funeral  his  nearest  relative,  a 
nephew  from  New  England,  whom  she  had  never  seen  before.  In 
a  day  or  two  he  brought  two  men  to  the  cottage  to  appraise  the 
property,  and  again  was  there  a  price  set  upon  the  well-preserved 
spoons.  On  the  evening  of  that  day,  as  she  was  preparing  supper, 
the  nephew  entered  the  kitchen  and  said,  "Aunt  Liza,  I  am  dis- 
posed to  be  very  easy  with  you;  the  worth  of  all  of  Uncle's  prop- 
erty has  been  carefully  estimated,  and  I  will  allow  you  to  include 
in  your  half  of  it  any  article  of  furniture  you  may  choose."  And 
again  she  paid  the  price  of  her  first  darling  purchase  of  silverware. 

But  there  was  not  enough  left  after  the  half  was  taken  for  her 
to  keep  the  house  and  lot,  so  they  went  into  the  hands  of  strangers ; 
and,  with  her  cat,  Aunt  Liza  again  went  into  cozy  but  hired  rooms. 
She  was  a  pattern  of  thrift  and  tidiness,  as  a  smart  widower  of 
the  neighborhood  was  well  aware,  and  in  less  than  a  year  he  made 
a  call  upon  the  comely  matron.  He  was  wise  enough  to  make  his 
first  visit  short,  but  lingered  a  moment  in  the  door,  and  suggested 
that  in  the  near  future  they  become  better  acquainted. 

She  answered,  "I  am  living  here  very  comfortably,  and  I  think, 
Mr.  Johnson,  that  it  will  not  be  worth  while  for  you  to  call."  Clos- 
ing the  door  hastily,  she  turned  to  her  cat : 

"No,  Tommy,"  she  said,  "I  have  bought  those  spoons  three 
times,  and  I  don't  intend  to  risk  them  any  more." 


STOLEN  BRIDEGROOM. 


Emerson  Hough. 


WHEN   Frederick  William   Ware,   better  known   as   Runt 
Ware,  left  Princeton,  his  father  asked,  "What  can  you 
do?" 

"Pitch  four  curves,  and  stand  for  even  Lon  Byron's  delivery. 
Oh,  father,  you  ought  to  see  that  fellow  pitch !" 

There  seemed  nothing  particular  for  Runt  Ware  to  do  in  a  busi- 
ness concern  where  everything  was  already  doing,  so  there  was  a 


GRADUATION  DAY  49 

paternal  sigh  of  relief  when  Runt  announced  that  he  thought  of 
going  west.     Whereupon  he  turned  up,  at  Barlh,  on  the  edge  of 
•  the  booming  Canadian  west. 

Previous  to  his  arrival  young  men  went  out  soliciting  orders 
with  tennis-racket  or  cricket-bat  in  hand. 

"Let's  start  baseball !"  said  Runt  to  Billy  Hardy,  his  old  Prince- 
ton chum. 

"Why,  of  course/'  said  Billy.  So  the  Baseball  League  was  or- 
ganized. 

News  came  to  Barth  of  the  standing  of  all  the  clubs  on  the  cir- 
cuit, and  always  the  name  of  Vancouver  led  the  rest.  "Listen  to 
me,"  said  Runt  to  Billy  Hardy.  "I'll  bet  a  dollar  they've  got  a 
man  in  from  Seattle.  Tainted  baseball  way  out  here !  We've  got 
to  beat  'em  somehow." 

Several  weeks  later  a  telegram  arrived  for  the  Runt. 

"From  Byron,"  he  remarked. 

Billy  glanced  at  it  and  read,  "Going  west  in  a  rush.  Pass 
through  Barth  Tuesday.    Meet  me  at  train." 

"Why's  he  in  such  a  rush?" 

"Oh,  I  believe  he's  going  to  get  married.  He  always  was  doin' 
some  impractical  thing  or  other." 

"I  wonder  if  it  is  Grace  Dinwiddie?  He  was  awf'ly  gone  on 
her,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that's  who  it  is.  She's  been  out  at  Seattle  with 
her  uncle.  They  are  stopping  at  Victoria  now,  and  he  is  going  to 
take  her  on  to  Alaska-  They  are  trying  to  keep  her  away  from 
By.     He  hasn't  much  money,  you  know." 

"Of  course,  we'll  meet  him  at  the  train,"  resumed  Billy,  "and 
help  him  get  the  girl.  Lmcles  don't  always  have  the  best  judgment 
in  the  world.     But,  say,  what  are  you  thinkin'  about." 

"Oh,  nothin',  only  that  our  game  with  Vancouver  is  Wednes- 
day,— only  that  Byron  was  absolutely  the  best  pitcher  ever  put  on 
the  black  and  orange, — only  that  he  whitewashed  Yale  and  set  the 
world  crazy." 

****** 


50  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Odds  at  the  Barth  Hotel  broke  against  the  home  team.  Every 
face  in  Barth  was  long  except  that  of  the  Runt;  he  spoke  apart 
in  whispers  to  O'Brien  of  the  Mounted  Police,  a  member  of  the 
Barth  nine.  "But  I  tell  you,  Runt,  it's  his  wedding-trip/'  pro- 
tested Billy  Hardy. 

"What  is  a  wedding  here  or  there,  I'd  like  to  know  ?"  asked  the 
Runt. 


As  the  Imperial  Flier  rolled  in  on  Tuesday,  Billy  and  the  Runt 
made  for  the  rear  end,  where  the  sleepers  were  attached.  They 
found  Byron  at  once  and  all  went  out  on  the  station  platform.  Ser- 
geant O'Brien  engaged  in  imperious  conversation  with  the  porter, 
to  whom  he  confided  a  five-dollar  bill  and  received  in  return  a 
dress-suit  case  and  an  umbrella. 

Byron  beamed,  blushed  and  admitted :  "I'm  the  happiest  beggar 
in  the  world !" 

The  conductor,  afar  off,  called:  "O-o-o-o-or-r-r-t-t-t — !" 

"Grab  him,  Billy !"  gasped  the  Runt.    And  Billy  grabbed. 

"Here,  I'm  off,"  said  Byron.  "Leggo,  you  !  Wait !  quit !  stop ! 
leggo  !  I  tell  you  !" 

"T  choo-choo-oo-o-ooo-ooo-ooo-oooo !"  whistled  the  engine. 

"You  low-down  friends  !"  cried  Byron.  "Look ! — last  train ! — 
Married  to-morrow !  Alaska  steamer  leaves — oh,  what  will  she 
do?" 

After  dinner  the  boys  took  Byron  for  a  joyous  little  canter 
around  the  hills.  "We'll  just  go  a  bit  down  the  street,"  called  the 
Runt ;  and  Byron,  exulting  in  the  air  and  speed,  clattered  over  the 
little  bridge,  with  thunderous  hoofs;  to  meet  O'Brien,  sergeant 
of  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police,  in  full  uniform. 

"Sorry,  sir,"  said  O'Brien,  "but  this  is  against  the  law.  Furious 
ridin'.     Have  to  take  you  in  charge,  sir-" 

"I  say,  fellows,"  began  Byron,  as  the  strong  arm  of  O'Brien 
thrust  him  through  the  iron-barred  gate  of  the  little  lock-up,  "this 
is  too  much." 


GRADUATION  DAY  51 

The  Runt  looked  at  him  implacably.  "You  will  get  to  Victoria 
after  we've  beat  the  suffering  tar  out  of  that  Vancouver  ball-team, 
and  not  before.  Why,  man,  what's  a  weddin'  against  a  real  emer- 
gency like  this?     Haven't  you  got  any  heart?" 

The  unfortunate  Byron  could  do  no  more  than  groan  and  sink 
down  upon  his  narrow  cot  in  outraged  anger.  The  Runt  and  Billy 
sent  the  following  message  : 

"Miss  Grace  Dimviddie,  care  Col.  James  S.  Dinwiddie, 
Victoria,  B.  C.  Mr.  Byron  slightly  injured.  Not  serious. 
No  occasion  alarm.  Sleeping  quietly.  Asks  you  to  come 
on  at  once.  Frederick  William  Ware." 

Before  bedtime  messages  began  to  arrive.  No.  1 :  "Much 
alarmed.  Send  details  at  once."  Ten  minutes  later  No.  2 :  "Why 
no  details  ?  Impossible  to  come."  In  five  minutes  No-  3  :  "Cannot 
stand  suspense.  Must  know."  No.  4 :  "Start  ten-thirty.  Give 
him  my  love.    Tell  him  to  bear  up  until  I  arrive." 

"Confound  it !"  said  the  Runt,  "I  don't  see  why  that  girl  can't 
keep  calm." 

When  the  eastbound  Imperial  Flier  rolled  into  town,  it  bore  a 
shouting,  stalwart,  piratical  band  of  youths,  whose  bosoms  dis- 
ported a  large  red-lettered  "V.  B.  C."  It  bore  also  a  tearful  but 
undeniably  handsome  girl. 

The  Runt  stretched  out  his  hand.  "My  dear  Miss  Dimviddie !" 
he  exclaimed.    "How  glad  we  are !" 

"Tell  me,  is  he  much  hurt?    Will  he  know  me?" 

"Well,  I  would,  if  I  had  ever  seen  you." 

She  entered  the  narrow  corridor,  trembling.  Then  swiftly  her 
eyes  took  in  the  details  of  the  barred  door,  the  tiny  window,  the 
straw  upon  the  floor,  the  narrow  cot,  the  forlorn  figure  and  the 
bottle  and  siphon  near  by  (gift  of  O'Brien,  sergeant  of  the  North- 
west Mounted  Police). 

"Alonzo  Byron,"  she  said,  "what  have  you  done  ?  What  is  that 
bottle?" 

Byron  sprang  to  the  bars.    "Kiss  me,  Grace." 


52  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

"That  bottle !    Ah,  I  see  it  all !" 

"That?    Why,  that's  for — for  insects!" 

In  the  parlor  at  the  summer  hotel  Grace  Dinwiddie  and  Fred- 
erick William  Ware  held  earnest  converse.  "So  you  have  put  me 
in  this  position  for  the  sake  of  winning  a  beastly  little  ball-game !" 

"Well,  of  course,  I  don't  know  that  he  can  win  the  game." 

"Of  course,  he  could  win.  Why,  I've  seen  him  hold  Columbia 
down  to  three  hits — but  I  couldn't  marry  Alonzo  Byron  now.  He 
would  think  I  was  following  him  around.  I'll  never  forgive  you 
■ — never." 

"You  can  marry  him  after  the  game,  if  you  want  to." 

"I'll  never  marry  him  !" 

"Then,"  said  the  Runt  sweetly,  "I'll  marry  you  myself,  if  you 
say  so.  I've  never  said  that  to  another  girl  in  my  life,  Miss  Din-  \ 
widdie.  But  I  don't  intend  to  prevent  any  weddin'  that  was  al- 
ready arranged.  My  position  is,  that  it  is  no  harm  to  postpone  a 
marriage  in  case  of  anything  more  important;  if  you  refuse  to 
help  us  there  is  an  empty  cell  waiting  on  the  other  side  of  Byron. 
I  run  the  town,  Miss  Dinwiddie." 

The  girl  gazed  at  him  in  open-eyed  astonishment. 

"Will  you  ask  him  to  pitch?"  asked  the  Runt. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,  I  will — I  will  do  anything." 

"Will  you  marry  my  friend,  Mr.  Byron,  after  this  game  is  won, 
Miss  Dinwiddie?" 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,"  with  sobs. 

"And  will  you  explain  to  him,  Miss  Dinwiddie,  that  unless  he 
does  win  this  game,  there  isn't  going  to  be  any  weddin'?" 

"You  brute !    Yes,  yes !"     [Sobs.] 

>j»  JjC  5fS  5JC  5j£  5|S 

There  were  two  attractions  in  Barth  on  the  following  afternoon. 
One  was  the  baseball  game,  and  the  other  was  Grace  Dinwiddie, 
who  occupied  a  seat  on  the  grandstand,  behind  the  protecting  net. 

"My,  ain't  she  easy  to  look  at?"  whispered  the  Runt  to  Billy. 

The  toss-up  put  Barth  at  the  bat,  which  pleased  the  Runt,  who 
was  anxious  to  study  Bingham,  the  Vancouver  importation  from 


GRADUATION  DAY  53 

Seattle,  who  was  in  the  pitcher's  box.  The  latter  went  about  his 
work  with  superciliousness,  striking  out  O'Brien  and  a  highly 
intelligent  Jap  in  one-two  order.  Earth's  face  fell,  as  Jennings, 
who  played  third,  followed  these  with  empty  hands,  and  Van- 
couver came  trooping  in  with  sneering  cheers. 

Byron,  between  O'Brien  and  Ramsey  of  the  Northwest  [Mount- 
ed Police,  walked  to  the  pitcher's  *box  with  methodical  step  and 
then  passed  an  easy  one  over  to  Salters,  captain  for  Vancouver. 
The  latter  struck  it  so  vicious  a  blow  that  it  sailed  past  the  third 
baseman  so  far  that  the  latter  got  lost  in  trying  to  find  it.  The 
pride  of  Vancouver  was  too  deep  for  articulate  speech.  Upon 
the  face  of  the  girl  behind  the  net  there  froze  a  swift  look  of  hor- 
ror.    She  moved  on  a  seat  or  so  toward  the  front. 

Vancouver  scored  two  more.  Byron  was  as  one  in  a  trance. 
He  scarcely  knew  when  the  inning  ended.  When  he  was  escorted 
to  his  seat  near  the  net  he  heard  something  behind  him  like  a  sob. 
He  turned  swiftly. 

"Grace,"  he  cried,  "it  wasn't  my  fault.    I  couldn't  come." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  sobbed  Grace  Dinwiddie.  "I'm  sorry  to  lose 
you,  but  that  isn't  it — that  was  such  a  rotten  ball.  Alonzo  Byron, 
do  that  again,  and  I  won't  marry  you;  not  if  you  were  the  last 
man  in  the  world." 

"Bully  girl !"  cried  the  Runt. 

"This,"  said  the  captain  of  Vancouver,  "this  is  what  I  call  easy." 

A  white,  hard  face  was  thrust  close  up  against  his. 

"It's  what  you  call  easy,  is  it,  you  lubber  ?"  hissed  Byron.  "Now, 
look  here:  I'll  just  bet  you  five  hundred  to  one  that  you  yourself 
never  get  first  again.  I'll  bet  you  the  same  your  team  doesn't  get 
another  run.  I'll  make  it  the  same,  by  gad !  that  not  two  of  you 
ever  get  as  far  as  second.  Pitch !  Why,  confound  you,  I'm  just 
playing  with  your  children  !" 

"Is  that  so?"  sneered  Vancouver's  captain. 

"It  is  the  soest  sort  of  so !  By  heavens !  if  ever  I  did  white- 
wash any  poor  suffering  lot  of  infants,  it's  going  to  be  you  be- 
nighted Eskimos  right  here !" 


54  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

It  chanced  that  the  Vancouver  captain  came  first  to  the  bat.  He 
saw  an  easy,  slow,  straight  ball  come  sailing  in  as  big  as  a  balloon 
and  as  slow  as  a  fat  hen.  With  all  his  might  he  smote  it  full — or 
thought  he  did  so.    "Strike  one !"  chanted  the  umpire. 

The  Vancouver  man  braced  again  for  one  that  came  in  fast  and 
straight.  But  some  way  it  rose  and  went  chug!  into  the  big  mit- 
ten of  the  Runt,  catcher  for  Barth. 

Again  Vancouver's  captain  swung  the  bat.  Why  he  missed  that 
easy,  easy  ball  he  never  knew.  It  had  resembled  a  Yorkshire  pud- 
ding in  size  and  contour  to  his  gaze. 

"Oh,  this  is  easy,  is  it?"  called  Byron  from  the  box.  "You 
big  dub !    -Dig  out  another  drugged  lamb,  you  people  !" 

They  put  in  Springfield,  a  good,  even  man  with  the  stick.  He 
fanned  sweet  mountain  air  in  vain,  and  sat  down,  red  and  sad. 

"Oh,  easy !"  mocked  Byron  as  the  next  man  came  to  bat ;  and 
thereupon  hurled  in  so  terrible  a  straight  ball  that  the  Runt's  face 
grew  white. 

"Strike  one  V  tolled  the  umpire.  And  Vancouver  retired  to 
confer. 

It  was  of  no  use.  Once  the  Runt  dropped  a  straight  one  that 
came  in  too  hot,  and  winced  a  bit  as  he  did  so.  A-  Vancouver 
man  got  first  on  that.     But  he  never  got  beyond. 

For  the  last  three  rapid  innings  Grace  Dinwiddie  crowded  close 
to  the  net  behind  the  catcher.  The  score  stood  8  to  4  for  Barth, 
with  hours  of  daylight  to  spare. 

"Isn't  this  great  ball?"  cried  Grace. 

Byron  left  his  box  and  made  toward  the  shielding  net.  The  girl 
met  him,  radiant,  her  nose  against  the  meshes. 

"Lon !"  she  cried. 

"Grade/'  and  they  kissed. 

"Why  don't  you  walk  around  the  net?"  asked  the  Runt  judi- 
cially. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  your  hand,  you  poor  thing?"  asked 
she. 


GRADUATION  DAY  55 

"Nothin',"  said  the  Runt.  '"Little  finger  broke,  I  s'pose.  I'm 
always  breakin'  it/' 

"You  clear  boy,"  said  Grace,  and  kissed  him  openly  in  public, 
while  Byron  wrung  his  other  hand. 

"It  was  great !"  said  Grace,  looking  with  pride  into  Byron's 
eyes.     Then  suddenly  she  grew  rosy  and  silent. 

Byron,  '03,  started  as  though  suddenly  thinking  of  something  he 
had  forgotten. 

"That's  so !"  said  he.     "Let's  go  get  married." 


GIRL    SCHOOL-TEACHER  WHO    FARMED. 


Robert  J.  Burdette. 


I 


NOTICED  in  a  newspaper  recently  the  following  item: 

"Miss  Ella  Witchazel,  a  charming  young  school-teacher  from 
the  East,  finding  the  close  confinement  of  the  school-room  in- 
juring her  health,  tried  the  outdoor  cure.  Instead  of  spending 
her  winter's  salary  and  summer  vacation  in  a  crowded  hotel  at 
the  seashore,  she  went  on  a  farm,  cut  twenty-five  acres  of  prairie 
hay,  harvested  forty  acres  of  wheat,  gained  twenty  pounds  in 
weight,  a  coat  of  tan  for  her  hands  and  face  and  a  rugged  com- 
plexion that  cannot  be  equaled  anywhere  off  a  farm.  There's 
the  girl  you  are  looking  for,  young  man." 

Now  I  want  to  say,  I  am  well  acquainted  with  this  young  school- 
marm.  Fact  is,  it  was  my  farm  she  spent  the  summer  on.  Nice 
girl,  Ella.  We  was  glad,  wife  and  me,  to  have  her  come.  Yes, 
sir,  she  farmed.  First  day  nothin'd  do  but  she  must  drive  the 
hoss-rake.  Well,  every  man  an'  woman  that  comes  from  town 
wants  to  drive  the  hoss-rake,  an'  they  call  that  gittin'  in  the  hay. 
My  little  Jancy,  eleven  years  old  next  May,  usually  drives  the 
rake  for  us,  but  she  hasn't  been  overly  peart  this  summer,  an'  I 
kinder  kept  her  out  of  the  sun.  So  Miss  Ella  gits  herself  boosted 
on  the  hoss-rake — my  boy  Joe,  he  boosted  her — an'  then  she 
screamed  an'  fell  off.  Then  she  got  on  agin,  hit  the  hoss  a  crack 
an'  away  she  went  on  the  dead  jump  out  o'  the  field  into  the  road, 
hoss  a-goin',  dust  a-flyin'  an'  Miss  Ella  screechin'.     Some  o'  the 


56  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

men  headed  her  off  an'  stopped  the  hoss.  Then  she  tried  it  agin. 
This  time  she  struck  right  through  the  standin'  grass  where  it  was 
tallest  an'  thickest  an'  tangledest;  hoss  a-balkin'  an'  tuggin'  away 
by  turns;  grass  comin'  up  by  the  roots;  rake  teeth  a-snappin'! 
We  got  her  out  o'  that,  an'  lost  a  whole  day  on  the  rake,  gittin'  it 
mended. 

She  tried  drivin'  a  load  into  the  big  barn.  Had  to  send  to  the 
house  for  a  ladder,  an'  all  the  men  had  to  go  clear  out  of  the  field 
while  she  climbed  up  on  the  load.  Drivin'  in  she  got  the  wagon 
caught  in  a  hedge  gap  as  wide  as  the  Missouri  river,  ran  over  two 
hives  of  bees,  upset  the  load  and  buried  herself  under  two  hundred 
pounds  of  hay.  It  was  the  safest  place  for  her,  so  we  jest  left 
her  ther'  ontil  the  bees  got  cammed  down  an'  we  got  some  work 
done.  Next  load  she  went  in  on,  an'  then  turned  all  the  men  out 
of  the  barn  while  she  climbed  up  into  the  mow,  an'  then  she  wan- 
dered around  ontil  she  stepped  into  a  chute  an'  shot  down  about 
twenty-eight  feet  into  the  cow-barn  an'  lit  right  on  the  back  of 
the  Jersey  calf  that  was  worth  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
Miss  Ella  wa'n't  killed,  but  she  was  jammed  up  so  that  she  lay  in 
bed  two  days,  an'  but  for  that  providence  we'd  hev  be'n  workin' 
at  that  hay  yet.  An'  anybody  that  wants  that  calf  can  have  him 
at  his  own  Aggers. 

Well,  comes  wheat  harvest;  she  must  drive  the  self-binder. 
That  was  a  leetle  too  resky,  -but  she  had  her  own  way.  But  she 
couldn't  be  trusted  up  above  the  knives ;  somebody  had  to  set  up 
there  an'  hold  her  on.  My  boy  Joe,  he  held  her  on,  an'  if  she 
didn't  make  him  drive  around  every  poppy  and  every  blossomin' 
weed  she  see  in  the  field  to  save  it.  Never  mind  the  wheat,  but 
save  the  blamed  weeds !  There  was  only  one  stump  on  three  hun- 
dred and  twenty  acres  of  prairie  land,  just  one  stump,  an'  that  girl 
run  into  it  an  broke  the  reaper.  Next  day  she  was  that  proud  an' 
confident  that  she  thought  she  could  drive  alone.  Well,  we  tied 
her  into  the  seat  so  she  couldn't  fall  off,  an'  she  started.  Two  rod 
from  the  start  a  big  blacksnake  stuck  up  his  head — an'  you  know 
how  slick  them  knives  amputate  a  snake  ?    Miss  Ella,  she  gives  a 


GRADUATION  DAY  57 

little  squeak,  an'  faints  dead  away.  My  boy  Joe — he's  always 
hangin'  around — he  jumped  for  the  horses,  took  Miss  Ella  down 
an'  carried  her  to  the  house. 

Money,  or  healthy  tan,  nor  rugged  appetite,  nor  nothin'  couldn't 
coax  Miss  Witchazel  into  that  field  agin,  an'  we  got  through  har- 
vestin'  all  right.  Land,  how  all  the  men  laffed !  An'  yet  we  all 
liked  the  girl.  But  the  idee  of  her  farmin' — why,  do  you  know, 
sir,  one  day  in  hay  in',  she  went  to  town,  took  one  of  my  best 
work-horses  an'  was  gone  all  day,  an'  came  home  with  'bout 
twenty  yards  of  blue  an'  white  ribbons,  an'  tied  'em  onto  the  men's 
hats  an'  rake  handles,  an'  wanted  us  all  to  wear  biled  shirts  with 
the  sleeves  looped  up  with  blue  ribbon,  an'  go  marchin'  out  to  the 
hay-field,  me  at  the  head,  a-singin',  "We  merry  haymakers,  tra,  la, 
la,  la,  la."  She  saw  it  done  that  way  once  in  a  concert  or  theayter, 
an'  thought  that  was  the  way  hayin'  was  always  done.  An'  she 
was  so  vexed  she  cried  when  we  wouldn't  wear  'em.  My  boy  Joe, 
he  did  wear  his  hat,  but  he  hid  it  under  the  hedge  when  he  got  out 
of  sight  of  the  house. 

Well,  Miss  Ella  got  along  fairly  well  after  wheat  harvest.  Gath- 
ered some  "graceful  sprays,"  she  called  'em,  of  poison  ivy  one  day, 
an'  couldn't  see  out  of  one  eye  for  nigh  a  week.  One  day  she 
took  a  tin-pail  to  go  out  after  berries,  an'  when  she  went  through 
the  pasture  the  cows  thought  there  was  salt  in  the  pail  an'  chased 
her  till  she  was  nigh  ready  to  drop.  But  we  liked  her.  An'  we 
hated  to  see  her  go.  An'  she  will  make  a  splendid  wife  for  some 
man,  if  she  can't  run  a  farm;  but  I  don't  know  about  any  young 
men  comin'  out  to  look  after  her,  for  when  she  said  good-by  to 
me  to  go  back  to  town,  she  throwed  her  arms  around  my  neck  an' 
give  me  a  kiss  that  I  says  to  my  boy  Joe,  standin'  by  the  wagon  to 
take  her  to  town,  he  was  always  somewhere  round,  "Joe/'  I  says, 
"you'd  give  your  share  in  the  farm  for  that,"  an'  Joe,  he  didn't 
seem  to  care  for  anything  of  the  kind,  an'  Miss  Ella,  she  up  an' 
give  me  another  squeeze  an'  a  kiss,  an'  I  saw  her  lookin'  over  my 
shoulder  at  my  boy  Joe,  an' — haw  !  haw  !  haw  !  they're  engaged ! 


58  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

CULTURE  ON  BITTER  CREEK. 


LIFE  in  the  west  was  new  to  me.  I  was  young  and  just  out 
of  college.  I  was  fond  of  talking.  I  thought  it  would  be 
novel  and  delightful  to  sleep  out  of  doors  with  half-savage  ox- 
drivers,  with  no  shelter  but  the  vaulted,  star-gemmed  heavens.  Of 
the  teamsters,  one  was  a  giant  in  stature,  and  Avore  a  bushy  black 
beard.;  another  was  shorter,  but  powerfully  built,  and  one-eyed; 
the  third  was  tall,  lank,  and  hame-jawed;  while  the  fourth  was  a 
wiry,  red-headed  man.  I  pitied  them,  on  account  of  the  hard  life 
they  led,  and  spoke  to  them  in  a  kind  tone,  and  endeavored  to 
make  my  conversation  instructive.  I  plucked  a  flower,  and,  pulling 
it  to  pieces,  mentioned  the  names  of  the  parts — pistil,  stamens, 
calyx,  and  so  on— and  remarked  that  it  must  be  indigenous  to  the 
locality,  and  spoke  of  the  plant  being  endogenous,  in  contradis- 
tinction to  exogenous,  and  that  they  could  see  that  it  was  not 
cryptogamous.  In  looking  at  some  fragments  of  rock,  my  thoughts 
wandered  off  into  geology,  and  I  spoke  of  the  tertiary  ?nd  car- 
boniferous periods,  and  of  the  pterodactyl,  ichthyosaurus,  and 
dinotherium.  The  teamsters  looked  at  me,  then  at  each  other, 
but  made  no  response. 

We  squatted  down  around  the  frying-pan  to  take  supper;  and, 
as  the  big  fellow  with  his  right  hand  slapped,  or  sort  of  larruped, 
a  long  piece  of  fried  bacon  over  a  piece  of  bread  in  his  left  hand, 
sending  a  drop  of  hot  grease  into  my  left  eye,  he  said  to  the  one- 
eyed  man :  "Bill,  is  my  Shakespeare  in  yo'  wagon  ?  I  missed  it 
to-day." 

"No.  My  Tennerson  an'  volume  of  Italian  poets  is  in  thar — 
no  Shakespeare." 

The  lank-looking  teamster,  biting  off  a  piece  of  bread  about  the 
size  of  a  saucer,  said  to  the  big  man,  in  a  voice  which  came  huskily 
through  the  bread,  "Jake,  did  yer  ever  read  that  volum'  of  po'ms 
that  I  writ?" 

"No;  but  hev  often  hearn  tell  on  'em." 


GRADUATION  DAY  59 

"Yer  mean  'Musin's  of  an  Idle  Man  ?' "  spoke  up  the  red-headed 
man,  addressing  the  poet. 

"Yes." 

"Hev  read  every  line  in  it  a  dozen  times,"  said  the  teamster 
with  the  red  hair ;  and  as  he  sopped  a  ^our-inch  swath  with  a  piece 
of  bread,  across  the  frying-pan,  he  repeated  some  lines. 

"Them's  they,"  nodded  the  poet.  "The  Emp'ror  of  Austry  writ 
me  a  letter  highly  complimentin'  them  po'ms." 

"They're  very  techin',"  added  the  wiry  man. 

I  took  no  part  in  these  remarks.  Somehow  I  did  not  feel  like 
joining  in.  The  wiry  man,  having  somewhat  satisfied  his  appetite, 
rolled  up  a  piece  of  bacon  rind  into  a  sort  of  single-barrelled  opera- 
glass,  and  began  to  squint  through  it  toward  the  northern  horizon. 

"What  yer  doin',  Dave?"  asked  the  stout  man. 

"Takin'  observations  on  the  North  Star.  Want  to  make  some 
astronomical  calkilations  when  I  git  into  Sacramenter." 

"Well,  yer  needn't  ter  make  that  tel'scope.  I  could  er  took  yer 
observation  for  yer,  as  I  hain't  but  one  eye." 

"Git  out  dar,  yer  durned  old  carboniferous  pterodactyl,"  yelled 
the  hame-jawed  driver  to  an  ox  that  was  licking  a  piece  of  bacon. 

"I  give  a  good  deal  of  my  time  to  'stronimy  when  I  was  in 
Yoorup,"  remarked  the  tall  man. 

"Over  thar  long?"  asked  one. 

"Good  while.  Was  Minister  to  Rooshy.  Then  I  spent  some 
time  down  to  Rome." 

"Rome !"  exclaimed  the  lank  individual.  "Was  born  there.  My 
father  was  a  sculptor." 

"Well,  one  wouldn't  er  thought  it,  to  look  at  yer." 

"I  never  was  in  Yoorup,"  remarked  the  one-eyed  man.  "When 
I  occupied  the  cheer  of  ancient  languages  in  Harvard  College  my 
health  failed,  an'  the  fellar  that  had  me  hired  wanted  me  ter  go 
ter  Yoorup  for  an  out.  but  I  concluded  ter  come  west  ter  look — 
hold  up  thar,  yer  infernal  old  ichy'ceverus,"  he  bawled  to  an  ox 
that  was  chewing  a  cud. 

I  felt  hot  and  feverish  and  a  long  way  from  home. 


60  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

"I  got  ready  once  ter  go  ter  Rome — wanted  ter  complete  my 
studies,  but  give  it  up,"  said  the  one  they  called  Dave. 

"What  fur?" 

"They  wanted  me  ter  run  for  Guv'ner  in  Virginny." 

"Yer  beat  'em?" 

"Thunder,  yes." 

"Why  didn't  yer  stay  thar?" 

"Well,  when  my  job  as  Guv'ner  gave  out  they  'lected  me  'Pisco- 
pal  bishop,  an'  I  hurt  my  lungs  preachin'.  Come  west  for  my 
lungs." 

"Found  'em  ?" 

"Well,  I'm  improvin'." 

1  did  not  rest  well  that  night.  As  day  came  on  and  the  men 
began  to  turn  over  in  their  blankets  and  yawn,  the  tall  one  said : 

"Hello,  Bill!     How  yer  makin'  it?" 

"Oh,  I'm  indigenous." 

"An'  Dave?" 

"I'm  endogenous." 

"An'  you,  lanky,  yer  son  of  a  sculptor  ?" 

"Exogenous." 

"How  you  feel,  Jake?" 

"Cryptogamous,  sir;  cryptogamous." 

I  walked  out  a  few  steps  to  a  little  stream  to  get  a  drink.  I 
felt  thirsty  and  I  ached.  Then  I  heard  a  voice  from  the  blankets : 
"Wonder  if  those  durned  old  dinother'uns  of  ourn  are  done 
grazin'  ?" 

Then  a  reply :  "I  guess  they've  got  to  the  tertiary  period." 

I  walked  a  little  piece  to  breathe  the  morning  air.  I  kept  on 
walking. 


We  live  in  deeds,  not  years;  in  thoughts,  not  breaths; 
In  feelings,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 
We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs.     He  most  lives 
Who  thinks  most,  feels  the  noblest,  acts  the  best. 

— Philip  James  Bailey. 


PART  II. 
Salutatories 


"WE,  ABOUT  TO  LIVE,  SALUTE  YOU.' 

(Salutatory.) 


Eugene  Wood. 


MR.  PRESIDENT,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen:  The  gladiators  of  old 
Rome,  when  they  filed  into  the  arena,  passed  before  the  throne 
of  Caesar  and  cried  aloud:  "We  who  are  about  to  die  salute 
thee!"  .But  to-day,  as  we  pass  in  review  before  you,  we  cry  aloud, 
not  in  despair  but  in  most  buoyant  hope:  "We  who  are  about  to  live 
salute  you!"  It  may  seem  to  you  and  to  us  that  we  have  lived,  that 
we  are  living  now;  perhaps  when  old  age  comes  we  shall  look  back 
upon  these  boyish  years  and  sigh  regretfully:  "Ah,  life  was  worth  the 
living  then,"  but  yet  in  very  truth  there  still  remains  to  us  to  be,  to 
do  and  to  suffer. 

To  be  the  men  we  hope  to  be,  to  develop  the  character  each  one 
has,  that  underlying  human  nature  modified  by  birth,  environment,  up- 
bringing and  by  education.  To  do  things  that  make  the  world  a  better 
place  to  live  in;  to  earn  a  living,  which  means  to  render  to  our  fellow- 
men  a  just  equivalent  and  something  more  for  all  they  give  of  food,  of 
clothing,  shelter  and  comforts,  physical  and  mental.  To  suffer,  to 
experience  joys  and  sorrows;  to  know  the  happiness  of  one's  own 
home, — his  own  and  not  his  father's;  to  know  the  grief  of  that  home 
darkened  and  in  one  silent  chamber  set  apart  the  still  and  lifeless  form 
of  one  we  loved;  to  feel  the  fierce  glow  of  victory,  and  the  cold  chill 
of  undisguised  defeat;  to  endure  all  things  as  faithful  soldiers,  the  dan- 
gers of  too  speedy  success  and  the  heart-sickness  of  a  hope  too  long 
deferred,  the  hardships  and  misfortunes  that  befall  us  either  by  our 
own  fault  or  by  an  adverse  fate,  and  not  alone  to  endure  with  passive 
virtue  but  to  conquer,  to  surmount  them  all  and  preserve  the  calm 
poise  of  the  strong  soul  within. 

It  is  for  the  reason  that  these  things  remain  to  us  that  this  day, 
which  marks  the  auspicious  ending  of  the  scholastic  year,  is  called 
"commencement."  Here  ends  the  preparation;  here  begins  the  work. 
Here  ends  the  dreaming;  here  begins  the  deed.  But  let  no  one  say: 
"I  have  finished  my  education;"  for  while  here  ends  scholastic  train- 
ing, here  the  real  education  begins.  We  have  not  gone  to  school  all 
these  years  that  we  might  learn  the  things  we  are  to  use  in  after-life, 
else  we  had  all  studied  how  to  prepare  a  legal  brief  or  learned  tc 
diagnose  disease;  how  to  deal  wisely  with  a  problem  of  conscience; 
how  to  distribute  tension  and  to  calculate  the  strain  of  structures;  how 
to  detect  with  unfailing  eye  the  very  moment  when  the  steel  is  fit  to 
cool  for  tempering.  All  of  these  things  can  not  be  taught  to  all,  for 
time  is  far  too  brief.  But  who  of  us,  standing  as  we  do  on  the  mere 
threshold  of  a  busy  life,  with  but  the  briefest  glimpse  of  all  the  mani- 
fold activities  within,  can  say,  with  positive  conviction,  that  he  does 
himself  strict  justice:  "This  will  I  choose  to  learn  and  not  the  other, 
for  thus  and  so  will  lie  my  pathway  through  the  years  to  come?" 
(Werner's    Readings    No.    55 — page    61) 


62  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

But  to  oe  prepared,  to  be  ready  to  take  up  the  work  for  whicr. 
liking  dev-lops,  what  circumstance  (the  greatest  molder  of  our  for 
tunes)  lays  next  to  hand, — in  a  word,  to  follow  worthily  our  fate,  thai 
is,  to  hive  got  the  good  of  school.  None  of  us  can  say  that  he  has 
profited  to  his  uttermost  by  all  the  things  prescribed  for  him  in  school 
to  su  jple  and  to  strengthen  him  for  the  long  struggle  of  life.  To  the 
que  tion  "Are  ye  able  to  drink  of  this  cup?"  none  of  us  can  answer 
wi  n  the  calm  assurance  of  the  Sons  of  Thunder:  "We  are  able,"  but 
ao  we  pass  before  the  kindly  Caesar  of  the  world,  we  lift  our  hands 
ind  cry  aloud:  "We  who  are  about  to  live  salute  you!" 


SERVICE. 

(Salutatory.) 


y 


D 


Minnie  Belle  Bradford. 
EAR  FRIENDS: 

"A   hundred  thousand   welcomes. 
I  could  laugh  and  I  could  weep. 
I  am  light  and  I  am  heavy. 
Welcome." 


We,  Class  of  ,  stand  to-day  before  the  door  of  the  world  of! 

action.  You  are  beside  us,  wishing  us  a  hearty  "God-speed."  We 
thank  you.  Our  door  opens  toward  a  world  of  light.  We  look  forth  j 
filled  with  hope,  courage,  faith.  There  is  work  for  us  to  do  in  that 
world;  we  are  ready  to  do  it!    We  cannot  fail  if  we  hold  fast  to  the 

truth — in  which  we  have  been  so   well  grounded  here  at  ,  that 

"service  is  the  highroad  to  success."  That  service  is  not  a  royal  road, 
we  are  well  aware.  There  are  mountains  to  climb,  dismal  valleys  to 
pass  through,  but  we  fear  not,  for 

"Before  us,  even  as  behind, 
God  is,  and  all  is  well." 

Sometimes  we  may  be  tempted  to  go  around  a  mountain;  it  may 
seem  easier.  But  let  us  remember  that  only  by  climbing  to  the  sum- 
mit do  we  get  the  broad  view.  From  the  heights  of  surmounted  diffi- 
culties we  catch  glimpses  of  the  true  meaning  of  life,  and  see  more 
clearly  our  pathway  for  the  future.  Perhaps  but  few  of  us — possibly 
none  of  us — will  ever  be  great  in  the  world's  eyes.  But  to  be  truly 
great  lies  within  the  reach  of  all.  The  world  will  be  richer  and  better 
for  our  having  lived  in  it  if  "Service!"  "Service!"  "Service!"  ever  be 
our  motto. 

"If  I  can  stop  one  heart  from  breaking, 

I  shall  not  live  in  vain. 
If  I  can  ease  one  life  the  aching, 

Or  cool   one   pain, 
Or  help  one   fainting  robin 

Unto    his    nest    again, 

I  shall  not  live  in  vain." 

For  four  years  we  have  been  studying.  What  we  have  gained  can 
never  be  taken  from  us.  We  have  a  knowledge  that  shall  make  all  life 
sweeter  and  deeper.  These  years  have  been  happy  ones.  God  alone 
knows  how  much  they  meant  to  us,  and  only  He  knows  how  full  of 


GRADUATION  DAY  63 

gratitude  our  hearts  are — gratitude  to  Him,  as  the  great  Giver  of  all 
things,  and  to  our  faithful  teachers,  who  have  been  most  truly  guides, 
pointing  the  way  to  a  higher  and  broader  development.  There  is  a 
tinge  of  sadness  in  our  hearts  to-day.  It  is  hard  to  leave  this  dear 
home.  But  in  the  truest  sense  we  are  not  leaving  it.  Its  spirit  goes 
with  us  wherever  our  path  may  lie.  As  our  knowledge  deepens  we  shall 
become  more  truly  members  of  our  alma  mater. dlhe  spirit  of  har- 
mony, which  has  pervaded  our  work,  will  be  felt  throughout  our  lives. 
And  as  harmony  is  the  secret  of  true  happiness,  we  may  safely  say 
we  have  learned  how  to  be  happy.  Discouragements  may  come;  we 
may  be  for  a  time  plunged  into  a  sea  of  discord,  but  I  believe  it  cannot 
last;  for,  as  Carlyle  says,  "We  have  a  work,  a  life-purpose;  we  have 
found  it.  and  will  follow  it!"  So  we  go  forth  into  the  busy  world,  with 
unbounded  hope,  courage,  and  faith.  And  now,  friends  all,  we  welcome 
you  most  cordially  to  our  exercises.  If  but  our  earnest  purpose  in  life 
shine  through  our  words — 'tis  all  we  ask. 


DON'T  WITHHOLD  APPLAUSE. 

(Salutatory.) 


TRUSTEES,  Patrons,  and  Friends:  On  part  of  teachers  and  pupils 
I  welcome  you  at  the  closing  of  our  studies  for  the  term.  I 
welcome  you  as  witnesses  of  the  proficiency  in  letters  some  of 
us  have  attained.  I  welcome  you  as  judges  of  efforts  made  to  show 
progress  made  by  pupils  and  skill  and  faithfulness  to  duty  by  teachers. 
As  trustees,  patrons,  friends  and  judges,  I  salute  you  in  behalf  of  the 
school.  The  ordeal  through  which  we  have  passed  you  have  all  gone 
through  and  forgotten.  The  hard  work  cf  the  scholar,  his  hopes  to 
achieve  something  in  the  way  of  knowledge,  his  fears  of  failure,  the 
difficulties  in  his  path,  and  even  his  disappointments,  are  all  dim  mem- 
ories to  you.  To  us  they  are  active.  They  are  too  near  to  be  forgot- 
ten; and  if  some  of  those  who  to-day  endeavor  to  amuse  you,  should 
win  your  favor,  let  it  not  be  scantily  expressed.  Should  you  feel  that 
their  crude  efforts  have  some  touch  of  merit,  give  them  your  applause, 
and  do  not  censure  them  if  they  show  by  look  or  manner  that  they 
exult  in  triumph.  No  grown  man  lives  entirely  devoid  of  vanity  •  no 
one  who  is  not  cold  or  base  can  be  insensible  to  the  good  opinion  of 
those  around  him.  Pardon,  therefore,  in  the  scholar  what  is  common 
to  older  and  wiser  people.  After  all,  you  are  only  bigger  boys  and 
girls  than  we  are,  and  some  of  you,  when  called  en  to  speak  your  little 
pieces  or  write  your  little  compositions,  feel  very  much  elated  if  you 
provoke  loud  approval.  So  ycu  will  excuse  the  little  ones  if  they  do 
like  the  big  ones.  Somebody  has  said,  "The  boy  is  father  to  the  man," 
but  here  the  man  is  father  to  the  boy.  And  now,  giving  way  to  my 
worthier  classmates,  I  again,  on  their  behalf,  welcome  you  one  and  all. 


Aim  at  perfection  in  everything,  though  in  most  things  it  is  unat- 
tainable. However,  they  who  aim  at  it,  and  persevere,  will  come  much 
nearer  to  it  than  those  whose  laziness  and  despondency  make  them 
give  it  up  as  unattainable.  — Lord  Chesterfield. 


64  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

FIRST  STEPS. 

(Salutatory.) 


LADIES  and  Gentlemen:  We  come  to  show  you,  in  ^rcrr  modest 
way,  what  progress  we  have  made  in-  our  studies,  so  far  as 
progress  can  be  expressed  by  essays  and  orations  on  subjects  of 
interest.  We  welcome  you  as  witnesses  and  judges.  But,  before  you 
criticise  our  efforts  too  rigorously,  we  beg  of  you  to  consider  that  our 
essayists  are  not  practiced  writers,  nor  are  our  speakers  accustomed  to 
address  audiences.  Remember  that  we  are  boys,  not  claiming  to  be 
men,  but  who  are  still  in  training  to  take  our  future  manly  places,  and 
the  instruction  we  have  received  here  is  only  the  rudiments  of  that  edu- 
cation which,  beginning  at  school,  continues  through  life,  and  ends  at 
the  grave.  Older  men,  wrapt  in  cares  or  engrossed  in  the  pursuits  of 
busy  life,  are  apt  to  look  with  passive  contempt  on  the  immature  efforts 
of  school-boys  at  Commencement.  No  one  leaps  to  the  head  at  a  single 
bound.  He  gains  it  by  many  and  often  painful  steps.  His  first  strides 
are  slow  and  cautious,  and  become  freer  and  bolder  as  he  gains  confi- 
dence. He  must  take  the  first  steps,  or  he  does  not  travel  at  all.  The 
chilJ  first  crawls,  then  makes  a  few  tottering  steps,  then  walks,  and  at 
last  is  able  to  run.  As  to  the  good  of  our  essays  and  orations,  that  is 
evident.  They  are  not  only  the  first  steps  of  the  future  writer  or  the 
future  speaker,  but  they  serve  to  give  you  some  clew  to  the  future  of 
the  boy  in  whom  you  may,  either  from  ties  of  blood  or  kindly  feeling, 
take  an  interest.  They  are  the  first  efforts  of  authorship  or  oratory, 
two  of  the  most  potent  forces  in  shaping  the  destinies  of  men  and 
states.  Let  no  man,  engrossed  by  desire  of  gain,  or  who  is  engaged 
in  manufactures,  trade,  or  traffic,  undervalue  the  power  of  authorship. 
The  products  of  authorship  are  needed  by  every  one.  They  enlarge 
the  mind,  relax  the  bent  bow,  and  refresh  the  worker.  .As  for  oratory, 
its  power  is  so  manifest  and  its  effects  so  evident  that  it  needs  no 
defence.  We  welcome  you  to  our  table  to-day;  and.  though  we  can 
promise  you  no  great  mental  feast,  yet  the  poor  dishes  on  the  board 
are  given  with  our  hearty  good-will,  and  I  bespeak  for  the  literary 
cooks  your  kindest  consideration  and  lenient  judgment. 


THE  FUTURE,  NOT  THE  PRESENT,  THE  TEST. 

(Salutatory.) 


I 


T  is  not  so  much  style  of  house,  elegance  of  furniture,  appliances 
of  the  table,  nor  even  palatable  nature  of  dishes,  that  puts  the 
guest  so  much  at  ease  as  the  sincere  and  hearty  welcome  of  the 
host.  You  are  our  guests  to-day.  We  bring  you  to  no  stately  palace; 
there  are  no  silken  hangings  and  gilded  chairs;  cur  table  is  small,  and 
the  mental  fare  we  offer  is  but  homely;  but  we  give  it — we  beg  you  to 
believe — with  warm  welcome.  We  feel  your  visit  an  honor  as  well  as 
a  pleasure,  and  we  shall  do  our  best  to  make  you  feel  at  home.  If 
some  of  the  fare  we  provide  does  not  suit  ycur  palate,  if  you  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  cooks  are  inexperienced  or  that  too  many 
cooks  have  spoiled  the  broth,  pardon  all  this,  because  we  are  about  to 


GRADUATION  DAY  65 

set  before  you  the  best  we  have,  and  with  a  desire  to  please.  You 
must  not  infer  because  at  this  Commencement  we  merely  show  re- 
spectable proficiency  in  elocution,  music,  and  authorship,  that  our 
teachers  have  neglected  to  ground  us  in  other  and  less  ornamental 
branches  of  knowledge.  That  would  be  injustice  to  them  and  to  the 
school.  But  the  more  useful  parts  of  the  education  given  here  are  of 
a  nature  to  make  their  display  wearisome.  Indeed,  the  exercises  are 
not  given  merely  for  display,  but  because  they  lighten  the  occasion, 
and  it  is  hoped  they  will  please,  or  at  least  amuse  the  audience.  The 
best  place  for  displaying  what  has  been  gained  here  ic  in  the  home- 
circle  and  in  the  duties  of  after-life.  It  is  in  the  families  of  pupils  and 
with  their  friends  that  the  instructors,  who  have  trained  us  so  patiently 
and  so  well,  are  to  gain  their  laurels,  if  they  gain  them  at  all.  What- 
ever more  solid  information  they  have  led  us  to  acquire,  whatever 
improvement  of  manner  or  perfection  of  morals  their  teachings  have 
produced,  is  to  be  shown  in  our  own  future.  It  cannot  be  presented 
to  you  to-day;  you  have  to  infer  part  of  it  from  what  you  hear  and  see. 
You  do  not  expect  to  hear  skilled  performers,  authors  of  genius, 
or  orators  of  eloquence,  therefore,  our  deficiencies  will  not  greatly 
displease  you.  We  know  you  will  be  lenient  judges;  we  submit  our 
crude  efforts,  poor  as  they  may  be,  without  fear.  And  as  our  friends, 
we  again  welcome  you. 


'APPLAUSE  GOES  A  GREAT  WAY. 

(Salutatory.) 


BELOVED  Professors,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Audience, 
and  Schoolmates:  I  greet  you  all;  you  who  lead  us  along 
rugged  paths  of  knowledge,  guiding  our  feet  and  supporting  our 
tottering  steps;  you  who  come  to  listen  and  judge  if  any  of  us  have 
gained  by  instruction  or  not:  and  you,  such  of  my  schoolmates  as  do 
not  take  part  in  the  exercises  of  the  day,  I  greet  you  with  a  welcome 
to  these  halls,  and  a  hope  that  this,  trifling  as  its  incidents  may  seem, 
will  be  a  red-letter  day  in  our  lives,  to  be  recurred  to  as  one  of  quiet 
pleasure.  The  air  brings  the  odors  of  fragrant  flowers  over  which  it 
passes,  and  the  Dupil  is  apt,  in  his  first  efforts  at  literature  or  declama- 
tion, to  show  some  traces  of  the  training  he  has  received.  In  fact,  the 
essays  at  a  Commencement  show  more  the  skill,  the  ability,  and  the 
brain  of  the  teachers  than  of  the  pupils.  Yet  if  among  the  chaff  into 
which  we  may  have  beaten  the  solid  wheat  of  our  Seniors,  you  find 
a  few  grains  worthy  of  note,  if  a  single  original  thought  or  a  happy 
turn  of  a  sentence  bears  marks  that  it  is  not  borrowed,  but  is  of  the 
speaker's  own  growing,  I  pray  you  take  the  trouble  to  note  and  admire 
it,  and  be  liberal  with  your  admiration.  Applause  goes  a  great  way. 
The  soldier  dies  to  obtain  it;  the  statesman  labors  hard  by  night  and 
day  to  secure  it;  the  author  burns  midnight  oil  to  gain  it;  and  why 
should  not  the  scholar  toil  for  it  in  his  feeble  way?  And  so  I  bespeak 
for  my  comrades  what  I  do  not  ask  for  myself,  appreciation  and  "a 
show  of  hands." 


66  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

PLEASURE  MORE  THAN  PAIN. 

(Salutatory.) 


Edith  Putnam  Painton. 


IN  our  life-time,  pain  and  pleasure, 
Both  must  fall  unto  our  share; 
Sometimes  duty  seems  a  blessing, 
Often  it  is  but  a  care. 
Yet  we  find  that  every  pleasure 

Far  exceeds  the  heaviest  pain, 
And  that  in  the  compensation 
Not  a  sigh  has  been  in  vain. 

Thus  we  feel,  on  this  occasion, 

When  our  school-term  closed  last  May, 
It  was  very  hard  at  parting, 

Hard  that  long  good-bye  to  say. 
We  were  joyful  at  our  triumph, 

Yet  with  pain  each  heart  did  swell, 
For  we  feared  that  careless  parting 

Was  to  some  a  last  farewell. 


Now  again  we  come  together, 

With  the  "will'  to  find  a  "way," 
And  it  has  become  my  duty 

(But  a  pleasure,  let  me  say), 
To  meet  you  with  words  of  greeting 

As  our  year-book  doth  unfold; 
And  to  bid  new  faces  Welcome, 

Glad  to  see  again  the  old. 


Let  us  strive  for  greater  victory 

As  we  start  upon  this  year; 
Outstrip  every  previous  session, 

Toward  the  goal  more  firmly  steer. 
There  is  yet  some  fault  to  conquer, 

Grander  laurels,  richer  fame; 
And  let  us  resolve  to  win  it, 

And  do  honor  to  our  name.. 

It  is  said  that  words  of  greeting 

Are  the  best  when  soonest  o'er; 
And,  as  I  wish  not  to  tire  you, 

I  will  say  but  little  more. 
Let  me  bid  you  all  a  welcome 

With  a  handshake,  firm  and  true; 
Old  and  new,  it  matters  little, 

We  are  glad  to  welcome  you! 


GRADUATION  DAY  67 

"BE  BLIND  AND  KIND." 

(Salutatory.) 


KIND  friends,  who  are  here  to-day  to  see  us  close  with  our  exer- 
cises the  school'  work  of  the  term,  while  we  welcome  your  com- 
ing and  are  honored  by  your  presence,  we  beg  of  you  not  to 
expect  too  much  from  school-girls  in  the  way  of  intellectual  perform- 
ance. We  beg  of  you  to  overlook  our  shortcomings — "Be  to  our  faults 
a  little  blind,"  and  to  our  merits,  if  you  find  them,  very  kind.  Be  satis- 
fied with  the  intention  of  my  schoolmates  to  do  their  best;  and,  though 
their  best  might  be  better,  it  is  not  likely,  with  the  training  they  have 
had,  to  be  very  bad,  unless  their  bashfulness  should  get  the  better  of 
their  knowledge.  Whether  they  please  you  or  not,  they  are  glad  to 
see  you  all  the  same.  Fathers,  mothers,  brothers,  sisters,  kinsfolk,  and 
friends,  we  welcome  you  to  the  place  where  we  close  our  studies  for 
the  term,  not  with  the  routine  of  our  usual  school-exercises,  but  with 
exercises  meant  to  add  to  your  amusement,  while  it  forms  our  enjoy- 
ment. V/e  have  been  laboring  at  literary  work  for  months,  and  this 
is  literary  play.  It  is  the  school-girl's  holiday.  You  may  forget  it  all 
in  a  little  while,  but  with  them  it  will  be  an  abiding  memory.  A  tri- 
umph won  to-day,  however  trifling  it  may  be  to  others,  is  a  serious 
thing  for  the  victor,  for  it  proves  that  her  industry  has  been  well  be- 
stowed and  the  labor  of  our  teachers  has  not  been  thrown  away. 


CO-ED    GLADIATORS. 

(Salutatory.) 


WHEN  gladiators,  who  were  to  fight  to  death,  entered  the  arena, 
they  elevated  the  points  of  their  swords  to  the  emperor  and 
cried:  "Caesar,  we,  who  are  about  to  die,  salute  thee."  We 
salute  you,  imperial  audience,  before  we  begin  the  display  of  our  intel- 
lectual games,  but  we  do  not  intend  to  die  in  your  presence — not  if  we 
can  avoid  it.  You  will  find  us  a  very  healthy  set  of  girls  and  boys,  and 
we  intend  to  live  just  as  long  as  we  can.  We  desire  to  become  old— 
that  is,  the  boys  do;  the  girls  never  intend  to  get  any  older  than  twenty. 
Not  that  they  mean  to  die,  either.  By  no  manner  cf  means.  They 
will  get  to  twenty,  and  live  on  at  that  age  in  a  perpetual  and  perennial 
state  of  freshness  and  beauty.  We  boys  intend  to  get  old,  and  each 
cne  of  us  will  be  President  of  the  United  States,  except  one  poor- 
spirited  fellow,  who  is  more  modest  and  less  scrupulous,  and  he  is  con- 
tented to  be  alderman  in  some  large  city.  But,  though  we  do  not  in- 
tend to  die  until  our  time  comes,  we  salute  you  all  the  same,  most 
imperial  audience,  and  solicit  your  favor. 

You  will  hear  a  deal  of  speaking  to-day — such  as  it  is — and  very 
fair,  I  dare  say.  The  best  always  comes  first,  and  that  is  why  I  open. 
I  should  have  preferred  to  have  spoken  last,  because  the  boy  who  de- 
livers the  valedictory  is  supposed  to  be,  mentally,  the  big  bulldog  of 
the  tan-yard;  but  they  availed  themselves  of  my  ability  as  a  speaker  to 
welcome  you  in  a  fitting  way,  leaving  the  closing  speech  to  some  one 
else,  which,  I  may  mention  to  you  confidentially,  is  equal  to  letting  it 
take  care  of  itself.    You  will  see  by  these  remarks  that  my  principal 


68  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO^  55 

fault  is  modesty;  but  it  is  an  amiable  weakness,  and  you  must  forgive, 
and  I'll  try  not  to  be  modest  again.  On  second  thought,  too,  I  prefer 
not  to  speak  last.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  welcome  you  all,  but  rather 
sad  to  bid  good-bye. 

I  did  intend  to  wind  up  with  some  humorous  remarks,  just  to  set 
you  all  in  good  humor  and  take  the  edge  off  the  dryness  of  my  school- 
mates who  are  to  follow  me,  but  I  forbear.  The  fact  is,  I  dare  not  be 
as  funny  as  I  can  for  fear  of  causing  trouble  and  breaking  the  domestic 
peace  of  a  dozen  families.  If  I  were  to  be  only  one-half  as  funny  as  I 
might,  what  would  happen?  The  ladies  here,  I  know,  would  preserve 
their  dignity,  even  under  such  trying  circumstances;  but  a  number  of 
the  gentlemen  would  go  off  into  peals  of  laughter.  At  every  explosion, 
off  would  go  a  button  from  the  shirt-bosom,  first  one — poof!  then  an- 
other— piff !  Each  poor  fellow  would  never  know  it,  being  too  happy, 
and  would  go  home.  Next  morning  he'd  miss  the  buttons.  Then  he 
would  say  to  his  wife,  "Why  don't  you  sew  the  buttons  on  my  shirts?" 
And  she  would  say,  "My  dear,  I  did."  Then  the  circus  would  begin — 
a  quarrel,  lawyers,  courts,  and  divorce.  And  they'd  lay  it  all  at  my 
door.  No,  no,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  no  fun  to  lay  on  my  conscience. 
Let  me  in  sober,  quiet,  and  decorous  manner,  welcome  you  all  to  our 
Commencement,  and  hope  that  you  may  all  live  to  come  to  a  great 
many  such,  and  enjoy  yourselves  every  time. 


TEACHER'S  ADDRESS. 


KIND  FRIENDS:  Assembled  here  we  welcome  you.  We  feel 
honored  by  your  presence.  We  beg  of  you  not  to  expect  too 
much  in  way  of  intellectual  performance.  You  are  anxious  the 
children  should  do  well;  our  desire  is  to  please  you.  These  exercises 
are  intended  to  give  them  confidence,  and  ease  of  manner,  which  will 
be  invaluable  to  them  later  in  life.  As  they  grow  older  the  incidents, 
impressions,  and  words  used  in  their  schooldays  come  vividly  to  mind. 
Very  few  are  attractive  speakers  at  first.  One  of  our  greatest  orators, 
in  some  of  his  early  efforts,  was  painful  to  listen  to;  but  after  con- 
siderable practice  he  rose  with  perfect  grace  and  self-possession, 
spoke  easily  and  fluently;  and,  after  holding  his  audience  in  close  atten- 
tion for  an  hour,  closed  with  a  splendid  peroration,  provoking  the  wild- 
est enthusiasm.  What  he  did,  others  can  do.  The  children  are  to  be 
our  orators  in  the  future.    Practice  now  may  prove  useful  hereafter. 


There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods; 
There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore; 
There  is  a  society,  where  none  intrudes, 
By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar. 
I  love  not  man  the  less,  but  nature  more, 
From  these,  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 
From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before, 
To  mingle  with  the  universe,  and  feel 
What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  can  not  all  conceal. 

— Byron. 


PART  IK. 
Graduation  Day  Poems 


MA  AND  PA,  NOT  POLLY,  NEEDED  EDUCATIN'. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


Keene  Thompson. 


MOTHER  and  me,  we  pinched  and  saved 
To  send  our  girl  to  college. 
She's  home  again:  so  well-behaved, 
And  burstin'  full  of  knowledge. 
"You  mustn't  say  'done'  for  'did/  Ma-maw, 

It's  wrong!"  she  says  to  mother. 
Then  next  it's  me :  "Not  'seen,'  but  'saw/ 
Pa-paw;  and  don't  use  't'other'!" 

Mother  and  me,  we  don't  know  how 

To  act,  it  seems,  or  talk ; 
We're  mighty  meek  and  timid  now, 

And  on  our  tiptoes  walk 
Around  the  house,  for  fear  we'll  make, 

Through  ignorunce  or  folly, 
Some  kind  of  clumsy  slip  or  break 

To  further  shame  our  Polly. 


Mother  and  me,  we've  sort  of  come, 

Of  late,  to  the  conclusion, 
Seein'  as  how  we're  both  so  dumb, 

That  it  was  a  delusion 
Goin'  to  all  the  trouble  and  fuss, 

And  cost  of  graduating 
Our  girl  through  college,  when  'twas  us 

That  needed  educatin' ! 

(Werner's  Readings  No.  55 — page  69) 


70  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

STERILIZED  COUNTRY  SCHOOL. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


J.   W.   Foley. 


THE  walls  and  the  ceiling  they're  spraying; 
They're  scrubbing  the  woodwork  and  floors; 
A  stream  on  the  blackboard  is  playing; 
They're  boiling  the  desks  and  the  doors; 
The  old  water-pail  has  been  scalded, 
A  cup  for  each  lassie  and  lad; 
And  no  one  may  drink,  as  we  all  did, 
From  that  old  tin  dipper  we  had. 

They've  cleansed  every  pointer  and  ferule; 

The  ink-wells   are   scrubbed  out  with  lye; 
The  books  and  the  slates  are  made  sterile; 

The  old  well  is  filled  up  and  dry; 
The  girls  have  to  wear  willy-nilly, 

A  button  which  bears  this  bold  sign: 
"The  lips  that  touch  germs  or  bacilli 

Are  lips  that  will  never  touch  mine." 

The  dunce-cap  is  boiled  every  morning; 

(They've  the  individual  kind!) 
The  front  door  is  set  with  this  warning: 

"Who  enters  here  leaves  germs  behind." 
No  apple  is  smuggled  for  sharing, 

As  was  in  the  schooldays  of  yore, 
Until  they've  made  sterile  the  paring 

And  quite  disinfected  the  core. 

Alas !     The  old  pump  is  discarded 

And  gone  in  the  flight  of  the  years; 
The   new   drinking-fountain    is   guarded 

By  the  Anti-Germ  Grenadiers. 


GRADUATION  DAY  71 

The  vines  from  the  windows  they're  stripping 
Lest  germ-breeding-  insects   might  stay; 

The  eaves  and  the  rafters  are  dripping, 
All  wet  with  a  sterilized  spray. 

Oh,  come,  in  the  joy  of  the  morning, 

What  secrets  of  schooldays  we'll  tell! 

That  thick,  rising  vapor  gives  warning 

That  teacher  is  boiling  the  bell. 
It's  time  for  the  B  class  in  scrubbing; 

The  A  class  is  set  out  to  cool 
From  its  recent  boiling  and  rubbing — 

Three  cheers  for  the  sterilized  school! 


MOLLIE  IS  GRADUATIN'. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


M 


OLLIE  is  graduating  an'  they  say  she's  goin'  to  speak 
A  little  piece  in  Latin,  an'  another  piece  in  Greek. 

I  dunno  nuthin'  'bout  'em ;  I'm  dull  as  a  dunce  could  be ; 

But  Moll  has  a  way  of  talkin'  with  her  dear,  sweet  eyes  to  me ! 


What  do  I  keer  f er  Latin  ?    It's  Greek  to  me,  I  say ! 
But  I  understan'  the  language  when  her  bright  eyes  look  my  way ! 
I  know  she's  thar,  on  the  platform;  I  hear  her  sweet  voice  speak; 
But  her  eyes — they're  talkin'  English  to  the  heart  that  don't  know 
Greek ! 

I  hear  the  folks  applaudin' ;  I  hear  'em  an'  I  say : 

"They  dunno  nuthin'  about  the  eyes  that  are  lookin'  her  lover's 


way 


l» 


But  I  read  'em;  an'  feel  more  thankful  than  ever  my  heart  kin 

speak, 
That  her  dear  eyes  talk  in  English  to  the  heart  that  don't  know 

Greek ! 


72  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

UNCLE  SILAS  ON  "CO-EDICATION. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


NOW  I've  been  thinkin'  quite  a  spell, 
An'  wonderin'  where  their  senses  is, 
When  people  go  to  work  an'  tell 

That  gals  can't  learn  like  boys — gee  whiz! 

Why,  let  me  see, — twuz  fifty- four 
When  I  quit  schoolin'  an'  all  sich, 

But  I  can  tell  you  I  learned  more'n 

Ter  say  gals  didn't  know  "how"  an'  "which." 

An'  so  I  can't  quite  see  the  p'int 
Of  all  these  argyments  brought  out, 

Ter  show  that  gals  git  out  o'  j'int 
With  schools  and  colleges  about. 

Colleges  are  fallin'  in  line, 

Are  openin'  wide  their  gates  to  all, 

An'  I'm  right  glad,  I  think  it's  fine, 
That  gals  air  goin'  in  this  fall. 

They'll  show  the  boys  a  thing  or  two 
That  they  have  never  known  before, 

An'  then,  besides: — 'tween  me  an'  you — 
'Twill  make  'em  work  a  blame  sight  more. 

Yes,  I  believe  they  done  jes'  right 

Ter  take  the  gals  into  the  school, 
Co-edication's  won  the  fight, 

An'  gals  with  boys, — that  is  the  rule. 

They  talked  around  they  wuz  afraid 
The  standard  would  be  lowered  some, 

But  that's  all  bosh — our  gals  wuz  made 
Ter  study  es  well  es  stay  ter  hum. 


GRADUATION  DAY  73 


The  boys  agin  it !     By  an'  by, 

They'll  feel  so  glad  the  gals  is  there, 

That  they  will  allers  wonder  why 

They  didn't  treat  'em  kind  o'  square. 

Co-edication's  come  ter  stay, 
An'  everybody's  glad,  I  know; 

Why  course  that  is  the  only  way, 

Now,  honest — don't  you  all  think  so? 


"OLD-TIME  FRIENDS"  ON  EXHIBITION-DAY. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


Frank  L.  Stanton. 


MISTER  "Soldier  of  the  legion,"  you  are  dying  in  Algiers, 
And  the  boy  upon  "the  burning  deck"  is  shedding  bitter 
tears ; 
And  we're  getting  closer— closer  to  the  Hohenlinden  fight, 
And  we  really  fear  that  Curfew's  going  to  ring  again  to-night ! 

Sir  John  Moore  will  be  buried  in  his  ancient  soldier's  coat, 
While  not  a  drum  is  beating,  and  we  hear  no  funeral  note; 
And  Mary,  known  to  all  the  girls  so  very  long  ago, 
Will  lead  us  out  that  "little  lamb,"  whose  "fleece  was  white  as 
*  snow." 

And  Cato  will  tell  Plato  that  he  reasons  very  well, 

While  Hamlet  on  the  future  in  soliloquy  will  dwell ; 

And  we'll  hearken  on  the  hilltops,  and  we'll  listen  in  the  glade 

To  wonder  and  the  thunder  of  the  charging  "Light  Brigade." 

But  come,  old  friends,  and  lead  us  to  the  meadows  far  away, 
For  the  boys  who  rang  the  Curfew  once  are  getting  old  and  gray, 
And  Death,  the  reckless  reaper,  is  thinning  out  the  line, 
But  in  dreams  they  drift  to  Bingen — to  "Bingen  on  the  Rhine!" 


74  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

ANCIENT  SEMINARY  MAID. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


Margherita  Arlina  Hamm. 


DEAR  grandma  says  that  long  ago, 
When  she  was  but  a  little  lass, 
A  seminary,  comme  il  faut, 

Received  her  in  its  lowest  class. 
She  learned  to  curtsy,  smile  and  pout, 

To  paint,  embroider  and  crochet, 
To  read  such  books  as  were  devout 
And  sing  in  true  Italian  way. 

Her  little  shoes  had  paper  soles ; 

She  learned  to  cultivate  a  cough ; 
And  in  her  favorite  books  and  roles 

Consumption  took  the  lady  off. 
She  never  exercised,  for  fear 

'T would  tinge  her  cheeks  a  vulgar  red; 
But  made  a  hectic  flush  appear 

By  going  supperless  to  bed. 

She  laughs  at  "  'ologies"  and  art, 

And  sneers  at  maids  of  brawn  and  brains ; 
She  says  they  spoil  a  woman's  heart, 

And  frighten  eligible  swains. 
She  made  a  helpful  wife  and  true 

To  grandpa,  through  both  weal  and  woe; 
But  then,  as  I  am  told,  he  knew 

No  more  than  she  did  long  ago. 


As  idle  as  a  painted  ship  upon  a  painted  ocean. 
Water,  water,  everywhere,  nor  any  drop  to  drink. 
Alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone,  alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea. 
So  lonely  'twas,  that  God  Himself  scarce  seemed  there  to  be. 

■ — Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


GRADUATION  DAY  75 

PROUD  OF  HIS  SON-GRADUATE. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


Y 


ES,  that's  my  boy,  sir,  there ! 
Dark  eyes,  and  darker  hair — 
His  mother's  hair,  that  curled  my  heart  round,  once. 
She  was  the  pride  of  the  school, 
And  never  broke  a  rule — 
While  I — I  was  a  scapegrace  then,  and  dunce. 

And  yet  I  won  the  prize; 

A  score  of  years — time  flies. 
I'm  getting  gray,  and  that  six-footer's  mine ! 

I  hope  he  knows  his  speech; 

Gad,  how  these  fellows  reach 
Above  their  heads,  shades  of  Parnell,  O'Brien, 

And  all  the  rest — he's  struck 

The  Irish  question  !     Luck 
Go  with  you,  Dan.    That  reasoning's  not  bad. 

Quite  a  strong  case  he  made 

Against  the  landlords,  weighed 
His  pros  and  cons  not  poorly,  for  a  lad. 

What  is  the  latest  whim? 

A  ticket  for  the  "Gym," 
A  safety  wheel — you'll  have  to  have  it  now. 

I've  not  the  heart  for  no, 

When  you've  been  working  so — 
Where  did  the  rascal  ever  learn  that  bow? 

And  now  he's  done  !     Aha ! 

What  was  it  that  I  saw? 
So  then,  my  boy,  your  charmer's  eyes  are  blue! 

I  might  have  guessed  her  there, 

By  that  indifferent  air. 
You're  Helen's  son,  but  you  are  my  son,  too. 


76  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Well,  you  shall  have  the  chance 

I  never  had,  to  advance. 
Pll  put  that  stock  in  your  own  name  to-day. 

Vour  mother'll  do  the  rest. 

Ah,  Dan,  we  both  are  blest. 
If  we  reach  heaven,  she  has  led  the  way. 


TO  SPEAK,  OR  NOT  TO  SPEAK. 

(Graduation  Day  Parody.) 


TO  speak,  or  not  to  speak,  that  is  the  question, 
Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  boy  to  suffer 
The  grins  and  giggles  of  outrageous  schoolmates, 
Or  to  take  up  books  and  leave  the  school, 
And  thus  by  leaving  'scape  them  ? — to  read — to  speak, 
No  more,  and  by  a  speech  to  say  we  end 
The.  scoldings  and  the  thousand  natural  ills 
That  boys  are  heir  to — 'tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wished.    To  read — to  speak ; — 
To  speak  1  perchance  forget ; — ay,  there's  the  rub ; 
For  in  that  speech  of  youth  what  fears  may  come, 
When  we  have  shuffled  out  upon  the  floor, 
Must  give  us  pause.     There's  the  embarrassment 
That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  speech ; 
For  who  would  bear  the  squints  and  grimaces  of  girls, 
The  teacher's  frown,  the  prompter's  sad  delay, 
When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  curtsy  ?    Who  would  speeches  make 
To  blush  and  stammer  under  a  declamation, 
But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  school, 
The  ever  ready  ferule,  of  whose  sting 
No  boy  is  unaware,  decides  us  all, 
And  makes  us  rather  speak  the  piece  we  have 
Than  wait  for  that  we  do  worse  dread? 
Thus  speeches  do  make  cowards  of  us  all, 


GRADUATION  DAY  7? 

And  thus  the  crimson  hue  of  bashful  youth 
O'erspreacls  the  face  of  hopeful  youth; 
And  declamations  of  great  pith  and  moment 
With  this  regard,  their  accents  turn  away 
And  lose  the  name  of  eloquence. 


GETTIN'  READY  TO  GRADUATE 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


SALLY'S  in  the  parlor.    Listen,  you  can  hear ; 
She's  oratin'  all  about  "Woman  an'  Her  Sphere." 
Henry's  in  the  stable  talkin'  to  the  hay, 
Shoutin' :  "Rome  was  not,  sirs,  builded  in  a  day." 
Over  in  the  medder  neighbor  Spriggin's  Nate 
Saws  the  air,  an'  hollers  of  affairs  of  State; 
Thompson's  boy    Elisha's  in  the  timber  lot, 
Readin'  from  a  paper  on  "The  Trend  of  Thought." 

Abraham  McGinnis,  down  there  in  the  brush, 
Scatterin'  the  silence  with  his  wordy  rush, 
Yellin' :  "Feller-citizens,  can  it  be  denied — 
Beyond  the  Alps  is  It'ly,  jest  the  other  side?" 
Silas  Braddock's  Rufus,  yonder  on  the  hill, 
Speechifyin'  strong  on  "Workin'  with  a  Will." 
William  Wiggins  stands  there,  on  a  stump,  an'  busts 
All  the  air  around  with  "How  to  Deal  with  Trusts." 

Some  one  in  the  corn-field,  kickin'  up  a  fuss 

'Bout  a  gladiator,  name  o'  Spartycuss. 

Henry  Clay  ain't  in  it,  Daniel  Webster's  beat, 

Patrick  Henry's  simply  knocked  plumb  off  his  feet. 

Gemunee !     It's  noisy  here  from  dawn  till  late — 

Scholars  gittin'  ready  for  to  graduate. 

Tromped  the  crops  completely,  scattered  all  the  birds, 

Woods  is  full  o'  speeches,  air  is  full  o'  words. 


78  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

GRADUATION  TIME. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


J.  W.  Foley. 


i  l  T3  EYOND  the  Alps  lies  Italy/* 

-D    "Through  obstacles  to  stars/' 
"Give  me  death  if  not  liberty  ;" 

"Can  there  be  souls  on  Mars  ?" 
Come,  ye  benighted  mortals,  come, 

Soar  up  to  heights  sublime, 
By  merely  hearing,  being  dumb — - 

'Tis  graduation  time. 

A  gown  of  white,  a  mortarboard, 

A  ribbon-gathered  scroll, 
A  mind  with  vastest  learning  stored, 

A  high  and  lofty  soul ; 
A  bow,  a  gesture,  and  a  hand 

That  points  up  at  the  sky : 
"Shall  tyranny  e'er  rule  this  land? 

No !    Echo  makes  reply." 

Bring  moldy  Shakespeare  from  his  tomb, 

And  trot  him  to  and  fro; 
Go  follow  Cranmer  to  his  doom, 

Lay  Robert  Emmet  low; 
Let  bold  Rienzi  speak  again. 

Go  ransack  prose  and  rhyme 
For  lofty  thoughts  and  visions  when 

It's  graduation  time. 

So  now  we  pry  into  the  deeps 

Of  coward  Brutus's  heart, 
Shed  tears  where  sad  Ophelia  weeps, 

And  move  with  Poe  apart; 


GRADUATION  DAY  79 

Sail  with  Columbus  when  he  went 

Far  from  his  native  clime, 
To  find  a  world  and  lessons  lent 

For  graduation  time. 

And  yet — and  yet — I  would  I  might 

Go  back  there  and  somehow 
Add  to  my  learning  of  that  night 

The  knowledge  I  have  now ; 
I  would  go  forth  so  well  equipped 

That  with  a  lusty  shout 
Fd  have  the  demon  Failure  whipped 

Before  the  week  is  out. 


BECAUSE  SHE'S  A  WOMAN,  NOT  HER  LEARNING. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


SHE  has  wrestled  with  the  sages  of  the  dim  historic  ages;  she 
has  studied  declamation  from  Demosthenes  down  to  Burke; 
She  has  sounded  Schopenhauer,  and  been  under  Dante's  power, 
and  can  giggle  in  all  languages  from  American  to  Turk. 

She  can  argue  in  the  isms,  knows  the  history  of  schisms,  and  will 
go  'way  back  to  Adam  to  elucidate  her  views ; 

She  can  bring-  up  illustrations  she's  obtained  from,  divers  nations 
on  the  somewhat  strained  relations  of  the  Christians  and 
the  Jews. 

From  old  Socrates  to  Spencer  she  has  read  and  read,  and  hence 
her  intellectual  adornments  are  a  wonder  to  be  seen; 

In  the  angles  she's  a  terror,  and  in  art  she  makes  no  error,  and 
she  knows  the  mental  value  of  the  hackneyed  Boston  bean. 

She  can  show  that  old  man  Pliny  was  in  some  respects  a  ninny; 

she  has  sneered  at  Archimedes  and  brought  Tacitus  to  task ; 
She's  revised  the  laws  of  Solon,  knows  the  value  of  a  colon  and 

can  calculate  the  contents  of  the  Dutchman's  famous  cask. 


80  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

She  has  studied  up  on  diction,  has  explored  the  realms  of  fiction, 

knows  the  views  of  Hobbes  and  Bacon  and  of  Paley  and 

their  crews; 
She  can  quote  from  Pepys's  diary  and  knows  Pope  (so  small  and 

wiry)  and  has  fathomed  Billy  Shakespeare  and  read  Burton 

on  the  blues. 

There  is  not  a  branch  of  knowledge  that  this  girl  so  fresh  from 
college  has  not  made  herself  familiar  with,  from  Plato 
down  to  pie; 

But  it  isn't  for  her  learning  that  she  fills  us  men  with  yearning — 
it's  because  she  is  a  woman ;  and  that's  just  the  reason  why. 

TO  THE  GRADUATES. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


Teresa  Beatrice  O'Hare. 


THE  same  fair  June  with  its  roses  red, 
The  same  wise  words  to  the  young  hearts  said ; 
The  same  deep  sea  and  the  same  blue  sky, 
The  same  fair  hopes  and  the  promise  high; 
The  same  pure  eyes,  the  same  soft  hands, 
The  sunlit  hair  with  its  golden  strands. 

The  same  glad  song  with  its  echoes  clear, 
The  same  low  whispers  of  friendships  dear; 
The  same  farewells  and  the  passing  shades, 
Like  sun  half  hidden  in  woodland  glades ; 
The  same  soft  tears  for  divided  ways, 
The  same  fond  vows  for  the  coming  days. 

The  same  frail  barque  on  the  shoreless  sea, 
The  same  mute  fear  of  the  Is-to-be. 
God  keep  you  fair  as  the  flowers  you  hold, 
White  as  the  lilies  with  hearts  of  gold; 
God  keep  you  pure  as  the  prayer  of  a  nun, 
God  guide  you  and  bless  you,  every  one ! 


GRADUATION  DAY  81 

STUDIES   OVER,   GOWNS   NOW   UPPERMOST. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


JUNE  again,  and  Commencement  Day! 
One  of  many  o'er  all  the  land, 
But  the  only  one  to  the  happy  band 
Who  joyfully,  laughingly  wend  their  way 
Through  the  halls  of  the . 

The  burning  questions  are  not  as  of  late, 

"Expect  to  pass?"    "Did  you  get  that  "'sup'?" 

"Is  your  essay  finished  ?"  "Are  your  note-books  up  ?" 
"Do  you  think  you  are  going  to  graduate?" 

Things  have  changed  entirely. 

Since  the  powers  that  be  have  settled  their  fate, 
Their  brows  have  lost  their  ancient  frown. 
And  "How  do  you  think  I  look  in  my  gown  ?" 

Is  the  question;  and,  "See,  is  my  cap  on  straight?" 
As  they  saunter  up  and  down. 

Another  year  and  another  June, 

And  the  classmates  scattered  widely  apart, 

Have  various  other  interests  at  heart, 
But  oft  on  their  lips  the  same  old  tune, 

"Do  you  like  my  hat  and  gown?" 


KITTY'S  GRADUATION. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


T.  A.  Daly. 


DUBLIN  Alley  jisht  was  crazy,  jubilation  was  the  rule, 
Chewsday  week  whin  Kitty  Casey  won  the  honors  at  the 
school. 
Shure,  the  neighbors  had  been  waitin',  all  impatient  of  delay, 
For  to  see  her  graduatin'  on  that  most  important  day. 


82  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Eddication  is  a  power,  an'  we  owned  wid  one  accord 
Casey's  girl's  the  sweetest  flower  ever  blossomed  in  the  ward, 
Whin,  wid  dress  white  as  the  daisy,  but  wid  cheeks  that  shamed 

the  rose, 
We  beheld  wee  Kitty  Casey  in  her  graduation  clo'es. 

Now,  this  Casey  loved  his  daughter  in  a  most  indulgent  way, 

An'  he  spent  his  gold  like  wather  for  her  graduation  day. 

Sich  a  dale  of  great  preparin' !    Shure,  ye'd  think  she  was  a  bride  \ 

Sorra  hair  was  Casey  carin'  for  a  blessed  thing  beside. 

For  whin  Casey  once  comminces,  faith,  he  niver  stops  at  all, 

An'  he  dressed  her  like  a  princess  at  a  Coronation  Ball. 

An'  'twas  Madam  Brigette  Tracy  for  dressmaker  that  he  chose, 

For  to  fit  out  Kitty  Casey  in  her  graduation  clo'es. 

Of  dressmakers,  shure,  the  oddest  was  this  one  that  Casey'd  got, 
For  her  bill-heads  called  her  "Modiste,"  though  the  prices  theie 

did  not. 
"But,"  sez  Casey,  "I  can  stan'  it  for  to  pay  a  few  more  cints, 
So  jisht  go  ahead  an'  plan  it,  ma'am,  raygardless  of  ixpinse." 
"Bong  Moonseer,"  sez  she,  "I'll  try  it  wid  the  usual  'savoir  fair.'  " 
"As  fur  that,"  sez  Casey,  "buy  it,  wid  the  other  things  she'll  wear." 
So  ye  see  the  man  was  crazy  for  to  get  the  best  that  goes 
For  his  little  Kitty  Casey  in  her  graduation  clo'es. 

All  the  women  jisht  were  itchin'  for  to  see  her  gettin'  dressed, 
Some  were  crowded  in  the  kitchen  an'  the  stairway,  while  the  rest, 
The  most  favored  ones,  wint  rushin'  to  the  livin'  room  above, 
Where  stood  Mrs.  Casey  blushin'  wid  a  mother's  pride  an'  love. 
"O !"  sez  she,  "  'twould  be  a  pity  if  I  couldn't  schame  an'  plan 
So  that  Kitty'd  look  as  pritty  as  Mag  Ryan's  Mary  Ann." 
"Tut !  ye  needn't  be  onaisy,"  sez  a  neighbor.    "Goodness  knows, 
There'll  be  none  like  Kitty  Casey  in  her  graduation  clo'es." 

An'  there's  really  no  denyin',  whin  they  marched  into  the  hall 
Kitty  Casey  pushed  the  Ryan  girl  complately  to  the  wall. 


GRADUATION  DAY  S3 

Whin  she  made  her  prize  oration  an'  they  gave  her  her  degree, 

There  was  sich  a  dimonstration  as  ye'll  niver  live  to  see, 

For  the  men  from  Dublin  Alley  voiced  their  feelin's  in  a  cheer 

Like  they  utther  whin  they  rally  in  a  Dimmycratic  year, 

An'  of  Casey's  proudest  days  he  counts  that  best  of  all  he  knows 

Which  beheld  his  Kitty  Casey  in  her  graduation  clo'es. 


PEDAGOGUE'S  WOOING. 

(Graduation  Day  Po«m.) 


THE  pedagogue  among  his  pupils  had 
A  maiden  fair. 
He  loved  her ;  who  would  not  ?    Her  eyes  were  soft, 
And  turned  to  his  with  saucy  glance  full  oft; 
And  when  his  tiresome  Latin  put  her  out 
Her  pretty  lips  were  all  too  prone  to  pout : 
He  longed  to  kiss  them — love  had  made  him  mad — 
But  did  not  dare. 

One  morn  he  met  her  on  the  way  to  school, 

The  hour  was  late; 
But  wait  he  would  not,  could  not.     Thus  he  sighed: 
"Sweet  maid,  I  prithee,  be  my  beauteous  bride  ? 
Already  hast  thou  marked,  nor  need  I  tell, 
That  I  have  loved  thee  long  and  passing  well; 
Nor  time  nor  absence  can  my  passion  cool; 

Let's  conjugate !" 

"Ah !"  with  arch  modesty  replied  the  fair, 

"That  would  be  fine ; 
But  'tis  impossible,  for,  as  thou  know'st, 
Small  stock  of  learning  can  thy  pupil  boast. 
The  first  declension  now  absorbs  my  thought ; 
The  verb  I  have  not  yet  at  all  been  taught, 
I  cannot  conjugate;  all  I  may  dare 

Is  to  decline!" 


84  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

COMMENCEMENT  ESSAYS. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


I  HEARD  the  essays.    That  one  on 
The  Magna  Charta  and  King  John, 
The  head  girl  wrote.     She  with  the  wreath 
Described  "Lear's  Wanderings  on  the  Heath" 
Quite  prettily.     Another  one 
Explained  "The  Spots  upon  the  Sun/' 
"The  Influence  of  Browning,"    and 
"The  Early  Writings  of  George  Sand;" 
"The  Transcendental  Movement :  How 
It  Touches  German  Letters  Now." 

All  these  I  sadly  listened  to : 

"What  earthly  good  can  these  things  do?" 

I  asked  myself.    "Does  old  King  John 

Teach  you  to  sew  a  patch  upon 

A  coat  ?    Or  can  the  spotted  sun 

Say  when  a  roast  is  rarely  done? 

Do  Browning's  tangled  poems  tell 

The  way  to  mend  a  stocking  well  ?" 

While  I  was  wondering  sadly  there, 
A  sweet  girl  rose,  and,  I  declare, 
She  talked  about  all  homely  things 
From  washtubs  down  to  muffin  rings ! 
She  had  ten  pages  all  on  pie; 
She  knew  the  choicest  way  to  fry 
An  oyster,  and  how  best  to  bake 
A  good  old-fashioned  johnny  cake. 

Next  day  that  girl  was  asked  to  share 
The  fortunes  of  a  millionaire; 
She  now  reads  Browning's  wondrous  books, 
And  leaves  the  cooking  to  her  cooks. 


GRADUATION  DAY  85 

The  girl  who  wrote  on  Brownings  work 
Is  married  to  a  gentle  clerk., 
Whose  income's  small.     No  girl  have  they; 
She  scrubs  and  cooks  the  livelong  day; 
And  sighs,  while  bending  o'er  the  range, 
When  she  reflects  upon  the  change — 
The  fall  from  school  sublimities 
To  tattered  books  for  recipes. 


DIRECTIONS  FOR  THE  READING-CLASS. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


F.  Ursula  Payne. 


WHEN  in  your  turn  you're  called  to  read,  walk  with  your 
head  erect; 
Your  teacher,  keenly  watching  you,  will  notice  each  defect. 
Mount  nimbly  to  the  platform,  and  sit  down  with  graceful  ease; 
Don't  huddle  with  the  other  girls  as  if  you  feared  to  freeze. 
When  called  upon  walk  bravely  forth,  and  let  your  arms  hang  free, 
For  if  you  hold  those  members  up,  reproved  you'll  surely  be. 

Soon  comes  that  fascinating  drill,  the  bowing  exercise ; 
When  many  a  careless,  erring  girl  her  teacher's  patience  tries. 
Now  hold  your  arms  down  at  your  side,  draw  one  foot  slowly 

back; 
Now  draw  the  other,  bend  quite  low, — of  bowing  get  the  knack. 
Don't  lose  your  equilibrium  and  tumble  to  the  side; 
Don't  bow  too  stiffly,  just  as  though  your  hearers  you  defied. 

Don't  tilt  your  feet,  or  jerk  your  bow,  don't  hold  your  head  toe 

low, 
As  though  ashamed  of  some  great  sin  and  wrapped  in  abject  woe. 
But  bravely  face  your  audience  as  though  you  wish  to  please, 
For  if  you  move  deliberately  they  all  will  feel  at  ease. 
And  now  begin  to  read,  but  pray  don't  be  in  too  much  haste; 
For  to  be  heard  you  use,  of  course,  "the  muscles  at  the  waist." 


86  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Shoot  forth  each  sentence  forcibly — staccato  is  the  word, — 
And  then  by  every  friend  and  foe  you'll  certainly  be  heard. 
Though  your  oration's  perfect  and  your  eloquence  draws  tears. 
'Twill  be  no  use  at  all  to  you  if  not  a  person  hears. 
Accent  with  care  the  proper  words,  and  close  attention  pay; 
If  you  commit  an  error,  you'll  be  stopped  without  delay. 

And  when  you're  through  your  reading,  to  perform  once  more 

begin ; 
For  to  omit  the  final  bow  would  be  a  grievous  sin. 
Turn  toward  your  right  and  walk  with  care,  for.  it  will  be  your  fate 
To  walk  across  that  platform  if  you  ever  graduate. 
You've  reached  the  floor  at  last,  and  now  march  up  the  center 

aisle ; 
Drop  in  your  chair  with  glad  relief  and  a  contented  smile. 


COLLEGE  DAUGHTER— LONELY  PARENTS. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


Eleanor  Bates. 


I  DUSTED  the  piano  keys  and  shut  it  up  to-day, 
For  no  one  here  can  play  on  it  since  daughter's  gone  away ; 
Her  summer  hat  was  hanging  behind  the  kitchen  door ; 
I  stopped  and  kissed  the  ribbons  as  I  swept  along  the  floor. 
The  young  folks  aren't  as  social  as  they  were  before  she  went, 
But  they  all  congratulate  me — and  I'm  sure  it's  kindly  meant; 
They  say  it's  so  improving  to  the  mind  that  longs  for  knowledge 
To  have  associations  girls  can  only  get  at  college. 
I  never  knew  the  clock  could  tick  so  loud  and  harsh  before, 
And  seems  to  me  the  sunlight  creeps  more  slowly  on  the  floor. 
Her  kitten's  grown  into  a  cat,  and  doesn't  play  so  much; 
And  when  I  tie  his  ribbon,  I  should  think  he'd  miss  her  touch. 
Her  father  has  grown  grayer  since  he  said  good-by  to  her, 
His  eyes  begin  to  fail  him  and  he  says  his  glasses  blur; 


GRADUATION  DAY  87 

He  frets  and  sighs  and  scolds  about  the  various  sorts  of  knowledge 
That   filled  his   little  daughter's  thoughts  and  tolled  her  off  to 

college. 
Her  window  plants  are.blossoming  and  look  so  fresh  and  gay; 
She  wore  a  cluster  at  her  belt  the  day  she  went  away; 
I'm  bound  to  keep  them  growing  for  the  pretty  child's  dear  sake, 
And  I'm  going  to  mix  a  cake  for  her  the  next  time  that  I  bake, 
And  send  her  with  some  butternuts  and  knitted  slumber  shoes, 
And  the  weekly  village  paper  which  will  tell  her  all  the  news, 
For  I  know  she's  too  true-hearted  to  despise  its  homely  knowl- 
edge— 
O,  heaven  bless  the  bonnie  lass  who  blithely  went  to  college ! 


HER  SENIOR  SMILE  YOUR  WATERLOO. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


Cynthia  Grey. 


A  FEATHER  and  a  ribbon  and  a  fall  of  pretty  lace 
Will  make  a  frame  bewitching  for  'most  any  maiden's  face ; 
But  when  you  meet  the  Senior  it  is  then  your  heart  is  stormed, 
.The  college  girl  in  cap  and  gown  is  beauty  unadorned. 

Hat  off,  bow  down! 

You  met  your  Waterloo 
When  the  Senior  donned  her  cap  and  gown 

And  sweetly  smiled  on  you. 

The  gown  falls  from  her  shoulders  with  a  graceful,  classic  air; 
The  mortarboard  can  not  confine  the  tendrils  of  soft  hair ; 
The  long  sleeve  folds  about  her  arm  like  a  protecting  wing; 
The  tassel  flutters  'gainst  her  cheek — the  tantalizing  thing ! 

Hat  off,  bow  down! 

You  met  your  Waterloo 
When  the  Senior  donned  her  cap  and  gown 

And  sweetly  smiled  on  you. 


88  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

And  when  in  bach'lor  reveries  your  cares  in  smoke  you  drown, 
There  floats  across  your  memory  the  girl  of  cap  and  gown ; 
And  in  her  eyes  the  courage  that  you  saw  there  years  before. 
And  somehow  single  blessedness  becomes  just  then  a  bore ! 

Hat  off,  bow  down ! 

You  met  your  Waterloo 
When  the  Senior  donned  her  cap  and  gown 

And  sweetly  smiled  on  you. 

At  last  content  before  the  fire  you  sit  in  study  brown, 
And  close  beside  you,  quite  demure,  the  girl  of  cap  and  gown ; 
And  high  above  the  mantel  hangs  a  treasure  that  you  hoard. 
It  is  that  irresistible,  that  saucy  mortarboard ! 

Hat  off,  bow  down ! 

You  met  your  Waterloo 
When  the  Senior  donned  her  cap  and  gown 

And  sweetly  smiled  on  you. 


SCHOOL-BOOKS  OUT  OF  DATE. 

(Graduation  Day  Parody.) 


Tom  McBeath. 


C  C  T  T  T  HERE  are  you  going  my  pretty  maid  ?" 

V  V    "I'm  going  to  school,  if  you  please,  sir,"  she  said. 
"And  what  do  you  learn  there,  my  pretty,  fair  maid?" 
"Why,  how  to  make  pretty  things,  sir,"  she  said; 
"We  weave  little  baskets  of  willow  twigs ; 
We  fashion  nice  clay  into  cute  little  pigs; 
We  plait  just  the  prettiest  mats  ever  seen, 
All  criss-crossed  in  blue,  red,  yellow,  and  green ; 
We  sew  little  patches  on  sweet  little  squares, 
And  make,  out  of  tooth-picks  and  peas,  little  chairs; 
We  draw  and  we  paint,  we  sing  and  we  play, 
And  then  we've  a  new  fairy  story  each  day." 


GRADUATION  DAY 

"But  where  are  your  books,  my  pretty,  fair  maid  ?" 
"We  have  no  use  for  them,  sir/'  she  said. 
"Then  how  do  you  study,  my  pretty,  fair  maid?" 
"Why,  where  have  you  come  from,  sir?"  she  said. 
"To  ask  such  a  question !     Humph !  even  a  fool 
Knows  nobody  studies  these  days  at  school. 
Our  teachers  have  found  us  an  easier  way; 
We're  learning  by  doing,  sir.     Good-day !" 


OTHER  BOY  IS  THE  BAD  BOY. 

(Graduation  Day  Dialect  Medley.) 


I  WAS  sitting  in  my  school-room,  after  a  weary  day, 
When  there  came  an  angry  woman  who  berated  me  this  way: 
"Why  do  you  keep  my  Johnny,  who's  as  good  as  he  can  be, 
Why  do  you  keep  him  from  coming  home  at  three  ? 
He  always  minds  his  father,  and  minds  his  mother  too ; 
You  surely  seem  to  punish  him  for  what  the  others  do." 

I  reasoned  with  the  mother,  and  tried  to  make  her  see, 
That  even  her  little  "angel"  could  sometimes  naughty  be. 
But  all  in  vain.    She  went  off  with  threats  to  do  me  harm. 
It  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  keep  an  outward  calm. 

Next  appeared  a  sturdy  German,  a  parent  fond  and  true, 
Who  also  thought  his  precious  boy  was  being  martyred  too. 
"Vy  do  you  vips  mine  Shacops,  for  vat  he  does  not  do? 
Dere's  anoder  poy  sits  py  him,  he  dalks  da  whole  day  droo; 
Und  my  poy  Shacops  is  a  goot  poy,  und  I'd  like  to  let  you  know 
Dat  if  you  vips  him  more  efer,  mit  dere  drustees  I  vill  go." 

Next  appeared  an  Irish  woman,  who  wondered  how  I  could 
Think  of  marking  little  Mickie,  she  thought  he  was  so  good. 
"Shure,  it's  the  bye  that  sits  fornist  him,  it's  him  that  does  the 

wrong, 
A.nd  gets  my  bye  poonished  for  iverthing  that's  done." 


90  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

"I  came  to  see  about  'Enry,"  said  another  parent  true ; 
"  '~E's  'alf  the  time  in  trouble  for  what  he  does  not  do. 
There's  h'another  boy  sits  near  'im,  h'it's  'im  that  does  the  wrong, 
H'and  gets  my  boy  punished  for  h'all  the  mischief's  done." 

Well,  talk  about  Job  and  his  patience, 

A  teacher  needs  much  more 
To  carry  her  through  the  worriment, 

That  falls  thus  to  her  store.* 
At  night  I  sit  and  wonder, 

How  to  find  that  other  boy, 
Who  causes  so  much  trouble, 

To  every  mother's  joy. 
If  I  only  could  expel  him, 

What  joy  there  would  be  mine. 
No  more  trials,  no  more  sorrows, 

Would  then  my  heart  entwine. 


HER  GRADUATION  RHYME. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


THERE  are  pestilential  nuisances 
To  vex  us  every  day. 
There  are  cranks  of  every  caliber, 

Each  bound  to  have  his  say — 
The  man  who  would  reform  the  world 

And  set  religion  right, 
The  man  who  can't  forget  the  war 
But  cherishes  the  fight — 

But  the  thing  that's  most  depressing 

In  this  balmy  summer  time 
Is  the  plaintive  maiden  poet 
With  her  graduation  rhyme. 

When  the  hedges  bloom  with  roses 
And  the  robin  trills  his  song, 


GRADUATION  DAY  91 

When  the  circus  and  the  salmon 

And  the  ice-cart  come  along, 
Then  arrives  the  silly  season 

When  the  schools  are  on  parade — 
Wit  and  wisdom  take  to  trees  and 
Common  sense  gets  in  the  shade. 
We  could  stand  the  declamations, 

But  that  wail  for  auld  lang  syne ! 
Oh,  there's  nothing  quite  so  wilting 
As  the  graduation  rhyme. 

After  years  of  fret  and  worry 

In  that  mental  treadmill,  school, 
After  tedious  tilts  with  grammar 

And  the  arithmetic  rule, 
After  philosophic  delvings 

And  a  dip  in  classic  lore — 
A  campaign  that,  while  it  lasted, 
Was  considered  quite  a  bore, 
Rises  up  the  class-ode  poet 

And,  forgiving,  paints  the  time 
With  the  tints  that  bloom  in  rainbows 
In  her  graduation  rhyme. 

One  might  think  ideas  romantic 

And  a  love  of  pious  ways 
Quite  extinct  in  times  pedantic — - 

In  these  selfish,  wicked  days; 
But  there  still  are  green  oases, 

Spots  where  faith  and  love  commune 
Their  palms  are  happy  Seniors 
And  they  blossom  out  in  June. 
Yes,  for  proof  of  passion  tender, 

Buoyant  hope,  and  faith  sublime, 
See  the  fervid,  tearful  phrasing 
Of  the  graduation  rhyme. 


92  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Cynics  call  it  affectation — 

Gushing  o'er  departed  days — 
And  such  tales  of  lofty  virtue 

Fill  the  class  with  blank  amaze; 
For,  until  they've  heard  the  story, 
Which  in  verse  the  maiden  sings, 
All  unconscious  of  their  graces 
Are  these  cherubs  (minus  wings)  ; 
And  they  never  dream  of  glory, 
Nor  of  dizzy  heights  to  climb, 
'Till  they  learn  their  own  perfections 
From  the  graduation  rhyme. 

While  the  warring  theologians 

Are  dissecting  each  belief, 
Souls  perplexed  and  apprehensive 

May  find  solace  and  relief 
In  the  class-ode  proclamation 

Which,  ignoring  creeds,  declares  - 
That  when  life's  great  school  is  ended 
We  shall  climb  the  golden  stairs. 
Yes,  salvation  universal 

Is  the  reassuring  chime 
That  jingles  at  the  closing 
Of  the  graduation  rhyme. 

Oh,  we're  tired  of  "friends  and  teachers," 

And  "beloved  classmates,"  too, 
Of  the  "tender  tears  at  parting" 

And  the  "sorrowful  adieu;" 
In  the  hot  and  sticky  weather 

'Tis  a  sad  and  dreary  thing — 
This  wishy-washy  nonsense 

That  the  blooming  maidens  sing, 
And  we  turn  to  Whitcomb  Riley, 
Or  to  Kipling's  verse  sublime, 


GRADUATION  DAY  93 

To  revive  our  spirits  drooping 
'Neath  the  graduation  rhyme. 


TEACHER  TO  HIS  BOYS. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


W.    T.    Miller. 


YOU  are  all  my  boys, 
Your  sorrows  and  joys 
Are  mine  as  well  as  yours; 
Your  youthful  ways 
I  blame  or  praise, 
But  my  faith  in  you  endures. 

The  work  that  you  do, 
And  your  frolics,  too, 

Are  part  of  life's  lesson  severe; 
And  you'll  share  with  me, 
Both  gloom  and  glee, 

As  you  build  your  future  career. 

You'll  find  in  life 
Much  bitter  strife, 

And  the  pace  will  oft  be  killing; 
But  all  we  ask 
Is  that  each  task 

May  find  you  strong  and  willing. 

I  call  you  mine 
And  in  fancy  twine 

Your  names  with  mem'ry's  wreath; 
When  from  here  you've  gone 
You'll  still  live  on, 

And  to  me  your  thoughts  bequeath. 

You  the  only  ones? 
Ah,  no!  the  sons 

Of  many  homes  I've  known; 
In  many  a  street 
My  boys  I  greet, 

And  call  each  one  "my  own." 

Some  win,  some  lose, 
Some  wrongly  choose, 

Some  have  griefs,  some  rest,  some  joys; 
But  sad  or  gay, 
You  here,  and  they, 

Will  be  always  just  "my  boys." 


94  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

ROMANCE  IN  OLD  COLLEGE  DAYS. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem,) 


IN  the  old  college  days,  on  the  old  college  green, 
With  corners  of  sumach  and  foxglove  and  rue, 
Where  the  gold  of  the  sunlight  lay  tender  between 
The  morning  and  night-time,  Sweetheart,  I  found  you. 
The  sheen  on  your  hair  was  as  gleaming  and  fair 
As  the  glint  of  the  noonday  that  kissed  it — and  rare— 
In  the  old  college  days! 

And  the  light  on  the  treetops  was  solemn  and  sad 
As,  blushing,  you  went  on  your  way  through  the  grass; 

And  the  flowers,  your  footprints  had  made  them  so  glad, 
Were  kissing  your  slippers,  my  willowy  lass; 

And  I,  though  my  heart  was  a  torrent  of  love, 

Stood  whittling  a  stick  by  the  purple  foxglove — 
In  the  old  college  days. 

In  that  happy  old  time  you  were  slender  and  tall, 
Your  face  like  a  flower  drenched  fresh  by  the  dew; 

And  your  lips,  like  a  love-cup,  were  made  to  enthrall 
The  heart  in  the  corner  of  foxglove  and  rue, 

For,  spite  of  my  learning,  I'd  never  been  taught 

The  mazes  of  hair-shine,  and  so  I  was  caught — 
In  the  old  college  days. 

But  the  gleam  of  your  tresses  is  chastened  and  gray, 
The  bloom  of  the  youthtime  is  evermore  lost, 

And  the  years,  had  they  opened  and  showed  us  to-day 
So  calm  'neath  its  burden  of  furrows  ?nd  frost, 

Do  you  think  we'd  have  left  the  dear  dream  on  the  green 

Or  hugged  it  the  closer,  my  snow-crowned  queen — 
In  the  old  college  days? 

But  that  far-time  is  precious,  for  never  again 
The  throb  of  our  hearts  will  so  passionate  beat! 

The  impulse  of  boyhood,  all  heedless  of  pain, 
To  stretch  out  his  life  'neath  your  satin-shod  feet 

Is  gone — we  are  only  two  peaceful  old  souls, 

With  the  madness  of  living  cast  off  on  the  shoals — 
Of  the  old  college  days. 

And  perhaps,  who  can  say,  when  we  wander  away 
The  arms  of  the  Reaper  may  bargain  with  Time, 

And  beckon  us  back  through  the  shadowy  day, 
Up  the  roadway  that  leads  through  the  gateposts  of  lime, 

To  the  broad  smiling  green,  with  the  rue  and  foxglove, 

And  the  sumach  in  clusters,  the  shy  silent  love — 
And  the  old  college  days! 


GRADUATION  DAY  95 

VACATION  RENEWS  VIGOR. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem.) 


Edith  Putnam  Paintor.- 


FRIENDS  and  school-mates,  we  have  gathered 
In  this  dear  old  room  once  more; 
But  we  feel  a  tinge  of  sadness 
That  we  ne'er  have  felt  before. 
We  have  met  day  after  day  here, 

Met  some  profit  to  supply; 
But  at  last  has  come  a  parting — 
We  have  met  to  say  "Good-by!" 

One  more  year  has  reached  and  left  us, 

One  more  year  of  life  hath  fled, 
And  since  first  we  met  for  study 

Think  how  swiftly  time  has  sped! 
With  the  thought  of  gaining  knowledge, 

We  have  gathered  many  a  day, 
Now  the  term  is  all  but  ended, 

And  the  year  has  flown  away. 


Yet  we  feel  a  thrill  of  pleasure, 

For  ws  know  we  have  done  well, 
And  our  sentiment  at  parting 

Is  "Good-by"  but  not  "Farewell.'* 
We  shall  meet,  vacation  over, 

All  our  duties  to  renew, 
Strengthened  by  the  intermission 

Ready  then  to  be  and  do. 

Ah!  our  dread  at  coming  parting 

Is  not  easy  to  resist, 
For  we  know  at  our  next  meeting 

Many  faces  will  be  missed. 
And  though  we  be  joined  together, 

Some  will  meet  with  us  no  more, 
While  the  others  we  shall  welcome 

Never  can  their  loss  restore. 


When  we  meet  again  next  autumn, 

When  vacation  days  are  o'er, 
We  shall  miss  the  cheering  presence 

Of  cne  class  that  comes  no  more. 
But,  aside  from  this,  I  wonder, 

Will  there  be  a  miscing  face? 
Will,  among  the  gathered  students, 

There  be  found  one  vacant  place? 


96  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Who  can  tell?    Before  the  morrow, 

Many  may  be  called  away, — 
Called  to  leave  for  God's  great  school-house, 

In  the  shining  realms  of  day; 
Called  above  to  learn  the  lessons 

Taught  by  Him  who  rules  us  all. 
Ah!  my  friends,  who  will  be  missing? 

Who  will  answer  at  God's  call? 

Looking  back  over  our  history, 

We  are  conscious  of  success, 
And  our  joy,  at  this  our  triumph, 

Makes  the  pain  of  parting  less. 
Let  us,  as  our  term  is  closing, 

Go  out  feeling  we  have  won, 
And  come  back  with  renewed  vigor 

To  outstrip  all  we  have  done. 


SING  WITH  RIGHT  GOOD  CHEER. 

(Graduation  Day  Song.) 


(Air:  "Work  for  the  Night  Is  Coming.") 


NOW  is  our  labor  ended, 
Welcome  vacation's  joys; 
All  hearts  are  filled  with  gladness, 
Happy  girls  and  boys. 
Sing  till  the  walls  re-echo, 

Sing  with  a  right  good  cheer, 
Sing  that  we  all  are  merry, 
For  vacation's  here. 


Work  has  been  hard  and  earnest 

Playtime  will  be  most  sweet, 
With  bluest  skies  above  us, 

Flowers  at  our  feet! 
Sing  till  the  walls  re-echo, 

Sing  with  a  right  good  cheer, 
Sing  that  we  all  are  merry, 

For  vacation's  here. 


Now  may  vacation  give  us 

Happiness,  strength,  and  health; 
These  are  the  best  of  blessings, 

These  are  truly  wealth. 
Sing  till  the  walls  re-echo, 

Sing  with  a  right  good  cheer, 
Sing  that  we  all  are  merry, 

For  vacation's  here. 


PART  IV. 
Graduation  Day  Songs 


VASSAR  GIRL. 

(Graduation   Day   Song.) 


Wallace  Irwin. 


(  t  f\  H,  Martha's  back  from  Vassar," 
1      1  Said   farmer  James   McCassar: 
^^  "O  Martha,  come  into  the  house  and  mix 

a  batch  of  bread." 
But  Martha's  accents  fluttered 
As  she  murmured,  as  she  stuttered, 
"I    have    studied   the    satanic 
Ways  of  bacilli  organic, 

And  it  throws  me  in  a  panic,  pa,  to  mix  a  batch 
of  bread." 

CHORUS. 

At  Vassar-oh,  at  Vassar-oh, 

That's  what  we  learn  at  Vassar! 
We  love  our  alma  mater  so 

We  do  not  like  to  cross  'er. 
We  have  a  superstition 
There's  nothing  like  the  damsel  with  the  dear  old 
Vassar  V. 

"Oh,  Martha's  back  from  Vassar," 

Said    farmer   James    McCassar: 
"O  Martha,  go  out  to  the  barn  and  milk  the 
brindle  cow." 

But   Martha   cried:   "Oh,   bother!" 

As  she  faced  her  poor  old  father, 

"With  golf  I  love  to  tussle— 

And  with  basket-ball  to  hustle — 
But  I  haven't  got  the  muscle  to  subdue  the  brindle 
cow." 

CHORUS. 

At  Vassar-oh,  at  Vassar-oh, 

That's  what  we  learn  at  Vassar! 
We  love  our  alma  mater  so 

We  do  not  like  to  cross  'er. 
We    have    a    superstition 
There's  nothing  like  the  damsel  with  the  dear  old 
Vassar  V. 

"Oh,  Martha's  home  from  Vassar!" 
Cried  the  angry  James  McCassar: 
**0  Martha,  take  yer  study-books  and  don't  come 
home  no  more!" 

(Werner's    Readings    No.    55 — page    97.) 


98  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

So  the  maiden  in  contrition 
Got  a  typist-girl's  position, 
Wed  a  millionaire  named  Harris 
Who,  lest  poverty  embarrass, 
Made  his  wife  a  millionairess.    And  she's  ne'er  been 
heard  of  more. 

CHORUS. 

At  Vassar-oh,  at  Vassar-oh, 

That's  what  we  learn  at  Vassar! 
We  love  our  alma  mater  so 

We  do  not  like  to  cross  'er. 
Learning's  road  is  rough  and  stony; 
But  for  golden  matrimony 
There's  nothing  like  the  maiden  with  the  dear  old 
Vassar  V. 


WOODLAND  VOICES  CALLING. 

(Graduation  Day  Song.) 


(Air:   "Suwanee  River.") 


ONCE  comes  again  the  joyous  season, 
Summer  is  here; 
School  over,  work  and  study  ended, 
Vacation  dear! 
Hear  the  woodland  voices  calling, 

Birdies,  brooks  and  flowers. 
Haste  from  the  hot  and  crowded  city, 
Rest  in  the  fragrant  bowers. 

All  through  the  bright  and  gladsome  summer 

Vacation's  ours; 
Joyous  we  hail  with  happy  freedom 

Long,  sunny,  restful  hours. 
Hail,  vacation,  happy  season, 

Books  now  closed  must  be, 
Green  woodland  shade  so  cool  invites  us, 
Spreading  its  balm  so  free. 

When  yellow  leaves  and  red  of  autumn 

Tinge  forest  grand, 
Then  to  the  now  deserted  school-room 

Turns  back  the  merry  band. 
Now,  vacation  we  will  hasten 
•  Far  from  toil  and  care, 
September's  call  again  will  find  us 
Ready  for  duty  there. 


GRADUATION  DAY  99 

MOTHER  EARTH  HOLIDAY. 

(Graduation  Day  Song.) 


(Air:    "Battle  Hymn  of  the   Republic") 


MIDSUMMER  sunshine  fills  the  air  with  golden  light  to-day, 
The  roses  bloom  on  every  side,  a^ng  the  ledges  gray, 
While  fragrant  breezes,  brooks,  and  birds  are  singing  on  their 
way. 

Vacation's  coming  near. 

CHORUS. 

Merry,  merry  voices  are  swelling 

The  chorus  from  glad  hearts  upwelling 

Joyfully,  joyfully  telling, 

Vacation's  coming  near! 

For  joyous  weeks  to  come,  no  more  of  lessons  learned  from  books, 
But  pages  full  in  flowers  and  stones,  and  in  the  running  brooks, 
Where  speckled  trout  lie  dreamily  within  the  shadiest  nooks, 
Vacation's  coming  near! 

CHORUS. 

For  us  shall  fields  and  forests  green  put  on  their  best  array, 
And  Mother  Earth  for  us  shall  keep  one  long,  long  holiday; 
The  hills  shall  echo  back  our  songs,  for  all  our  hearts  are  gay, 
Vacation's  coming  near! 

CHORUS. 


PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS. 

(Graduation  Day  Song.) 


John  J.  Loud. 


A  BAND  of  sisters  linger  we 
Here  at  the  parting  of  the  ways, 
Hope  beckons  to  the  opening  paths, 
But  backward  still  we  gaze. 
Kind  teachers  faithful  to  their  trust, 

The  friends  whose  smiles  have  cheered  our  days, 
Half  sad,  half  joyful,  here  await 
The  parting  of  the  ways. 

Our  hearts  with  tender  farewells  thrill; 

The  past,  more  than  the  present,  seems 
To  be  with  us.    The  passing  hours 

Are  but  as  waking  dreams. 
Whate'er  the  future  has  in  store 

Of  cloud  or  sunshine  for  our  days 
Sweet  mem'ries  throw  their  halo  round 

This  parting   of  the  ways. 


100  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

HIGH  IDEALS  WOT  LOST. 

(Graduation  Day  Song.) 


y 


Mary   A.   Burnell. 


(Air:  "Just  One  Word  of  Consolation.") 


SCHOOLMATES,  friends,  all  hold  you  dear, 
Whom  you  see  now  gathered  here; 
We  all  joy  in  your  success, 
Admiration,  too,  confess; 
Others,  wearied  by  the  way, 
Might  have  stood  with  you  to-day; 
With  firm  purpose,  you've  held  true, 
Kept  Commencement  Day  in  view. 

CHORUS. 

Paths  that  looked  so  steep  ahead, 

When  we  first  began  to  climb, 
Now  with  rosy  hues  are  spread, 

Viewed  at  this  Commencement  time. 
And  so  we  now  would  say  to  all, — 

Let  none  tempt  you  from  the  door 
How  e'er  loud  may  be  the  call 

When  the  bell  shall  ring  once  more. 

While  we  wish  you  all  God-speed, 
For  the  world  has  urgent  need 

Of  the  earnest  and  the  true 

And  we  rest  our  faith  in  you, — 
Still  we  all  shall  miss  you  sadly 
Where  we  daily  met  so  gladly, 

All  your  happy,  cheerful  voices 

And  the  less  melodious  noises. 

CHORUS. 

Since  to  us  are  left  your  places 
While  no  more  we'll  see  your  faces 

We  will  try  to  fill  them  well. 

Deeds,  not  words  alone,  will  tell. 
High  ideals  are  not  lost; 
Nor  we'll  count  too  great  the  cost. 

So  with  tender  thoughts  and  true 

We  now  say  "Good-by"  to  you. 

CHORUS. 

Say  farewell  and  yet  again, 
Thoughts  and  faces  to  you  turn; 

Happy  school-days  spent  together, 

Whatsoe'er  might  be  the  weather, 
Heart  to  heart  hath  closely  bound, 
Inspiration,  too,  we've  found. 

Time  forbids  us  more  to  tell, 

So  my  friends,  dear  friends.  Farewell. 

CHORUS. 


GRADUATION  DAY  101 

I  WANT  TO  LIVE  IN  A  COLLEGE  TOWN. 

(Graduation  Day  Song.) 


George  Ade. 


SOME  girls  would  be  by  the  sounding  sea, 
Where  the  rolling  breakers  beat; 
Some  girls  would  stay  on  a  mountain  top 
In  a  quiet,  safe  retreat; 
Some  vegetate  in  a  rural  state 

Among  the  placid  yaps, 
While  some  are  ripe  for  the  sporty  type 

Of  the  hoorah  city  chaps. 
But  if  I  had  my  say 
Of  some  good  place  to  stay, 
I  think  I'd  rather  settle  down 
In college  town. 

CHORUS. 

I  want  to  live  in  a  college  town 

Where  men  are  thick  as  bees, 
Where  the  noisy  boys  in  corduroys 

Are  grouped  beneath  the  trees. 
Each  night  a  light 
In  the  parlor  bright 

And  a  song  in  the  key  of  G, 
With  a  real  Dutch  lunch 
For  the   midnight  bunch, 

A  college  town  for  me. 


SEARCHING  FOR  WISDOM. 

(Graduation  Day  Song.) 


Ethel  M.  Van  Vliet. 


(Air:   "Marching  Through  Georgia.") 


T 


AKE  your  good  old  speller,  boys,  and  learn  the  right  from  wrong, 
Spell  it  as  we  used  to  spell  it,  pass  the  word  along, 
For  vacation's  coming,  so  we  sing  our  joyful  song, 
While  we  are  searching  for  wisdom. 

CHORUS. 

Hurrah,  hurrah,  now  comes  our  jubilee! 
Hurrah,  hurrah,  vacation  sets  us  free! 
So  we  sing  the  chorus  of  vacation's  jubilee 
While  we  are  searching  for  wisdom. 

How  we  children  shouted  when  we  heard  the  school-bell  sound, 
How  we  sighed  and  puzzled  o'er  examples  which  we  found, 
Hard  examinations  how  they  ever  did  abound, 
While  we  were  searching  for  wisdom. 

CHORU9. 


102  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Now  vacation's  bringing  a  glad  playtime  in  her  train, 
And  we  think  we've  earned  it,  for  we've  worked  with  might  and  main. 
So  good-by  to  study  till  the  school-bell  rings  again, 
Then  we'll  be  searching  for  wisdom. 

CHORUS. 


RESISTLESS  MARCH  OF  GIRL  GRADUATES. 

(Graduation  Day  Song.) 


H.   S.   Keller. 


(Air:  "We  Are  Coming,  Father  Abraham.") 


THEY  are  coming,  men  and  brethren, 
Many  hundred  thousand   strong; 
They  are  pouring  forth  an  army 
Exceeding  wide  and  long. 
They  are  smiling,  they  are  nodding, 

And  their  plumes  are  waving  high, 
As  each  maiden  lifts  her  banner 
To  the  glorious  shining  sky. 

They  are  full  of  mighty  wisdom, 

And  the  world  their  oyster  is; 
They  have  buckled  on  the  armor. 

And  are  ready  now  for  biz. 
They  are  ready  for  the  battle, 

And  their  war-cry  fairly  thrills: 
Some  will  sprout  as  full-fledged  lawyers, 

Some  as  mixers  up  of  pills. 

Man,  poor,  craven  man,  before  them 

Flees  afar  and  hides  his  head, 
For  the  ground  is  charmed  completely 

By  the  beauteous  army's  tread. 
Man's  a  second  fiddler  sawing 

Sadly  on  a  single  strand, 
In  the  face  of  such  an  army 

Swarming  wildly  o'er  the  land. 


They'll  be  filling  all  the  places 

Filled  by  poor  prosaic  man; 
They'll  be  claiming  all  the  options, 

Bossing  ev'ry  scheme  and  plan. 
And  the  one  nice  way  to  stop  them 

In  their  stalwart,  onward  stride 
Is  to  woo  them  and  to  win  them, 

And  to  make  each  one  a  bride! 


PART  V, 
Graduation  Day  Addresses,  Essays,  Orations 

HOW  TO  WRITE  A  GRADUATION  ESSAY. 


Hamilton  Wright  Mabie. 


IN  writing,  as  in  every  other  thing,  don't  try  to  be  somebody  else; 
be  content  to  be  yourself.  Imitative  people  are  never  interesting, 
nor  are  people  who  do  things  in  a  way  which  is  not  natural  to 
them.  Don't  become  rigid  when  you  take  up  your  pen;  let  it  lie  in 
your  hand  as  easily  as  a  baseball  bat  or  a  tennis-racquet.  Don't  allow 
yourself  to  have  feelings  or  thoughts  about  writing  any  more  than 
you  have  feelings  or  thoughts  about  talking.  Don't  try  to  do  some- 
thing impressive  or  elegant  or  fine;  if  you  do,  you  will  do  something 
ctupid.  Above  all,  don't  think  that  you  are  doing  something  for  an 
audience;  that  is  fatal  to  naturalness  and  simplicity.  Write  as  if  you 
were  talking  to  the  boys  and  girls  about  you.  If  you  find  it  hard  to 
do  that,  put  the  composition  form  out  of  your  mind  and  write  a  letter 
on  the  subject  to  some  one  you  know  well;  then  strike  off  the  begin- 
ning and  the  ending,  and  you  will  have  your  composition. 

You  will  need  a  subject  at  the  very  beginning.  Don't  try  to  select 
a  subject;  let  it  select  itself.  It  will  do  this,  if,  instead  of  searching 
through  all  the  fields  of  knowledge,  you  will  sit  quietly  and  let  things 
come  to  you.  Your  subject  ought  to  belong  to  you;  you  ought  to  own 
it  by  right  of  possession  through  personal  knowledge  or  interest  or 
the  bent  of  your  mind.  You  have  made  a  journey;  you  have  been  to 
a  city  and  heard  a  concert  or  seen  a  play;  you  have  taken  a  walk  in 
the  woods;  you  have  seen  a  brisk  old  man  come  into  a  street-car,  and 
a  young  woman,  after  looking  reproachfully  at  the  men  around  her, 
get  up  and  offer  her  seat,  and  you  have  seen  the  old  man  look  angry 
and  decline  it;  you  have  been  at  a  fire  on  a  windy  night  and  seen  the 
flames  mount  and  sway  to  and  fro;  you  have  discovered  a  strange  and 
eccentric  character;  you  have  been  reading  a  book  which  has  made  you 
forget  yourself  and  you  want  to  talk  about  it;  something  happened  to 
you  when  you  were  a  child  and  made  a  great  impression  on  you:  these 
are  your  subjects;  they  belong  to  you;  they  are  not  strangers  from 
foreign  lands  nor  ghosts  from  history  books.  You  cannot  do  your 
best  unless  your  subject  comes  from  your  neighborhood,  your  experi- 
ence or  your  reading.  You  cannot  interest  others  unless  you  are  in- 
terested yourself;  that  is  the  reason  why  when  you  write  on  "The 
Progress  of  Civilization,"  "The  Sphere  of  Woman,"  "The  Rights  of 
Man,"  your  composition  is  without  color  or  individuality;  you  do  not 
know  anything  about  the  subject  at  first  hand;  it  does  not  touch  you 
and  you  cannot  tcuch  other  people.  On  the  other  hand,  when  you  de- 
scribe a  visit  to  a  rolling-mill,  or  a  canoe-trip  on  the  river,  or  an  Arctic 
voyage  you  have  just  been  reading  about,  everybody  listens  and  the 
committee  on  prizes  pays  strict  attention;  you  are  interested,  and  you 
have  interested  others. 

When  your  subject  has  come  to  you,  treat  it  as  an   old  friend; 

(Werner's   Readings   No.    55 — page   103) 


104  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

don't  put  on  your  Sunday  clothes  and  sit  in  the  "best  parlor"  with  it; 
keep  it  outdoors,  or  take  it  up  to  your  own  room;  talk  with  it  easily 
and  comfortably;  don't  be  prim  and  formal  and  carefully  polite  with 
it.  If  you  have  an  experience  to  describe,  do  not  set  down  everything 
that  happened — choose  the  interesting  things  and  let  the  others  go.  A 
bore  is  a  man  who  never  lets  anything  go;  if  he  is  telling  you  about 
a  trip  and  he  comes  to  ten  miles  of  level  road  across  a  flat  country, 
he  describes  every  mile  of  it.  A  good  story-teller,  on  the  other  hand, 
puts  the  whole  ten  miles  into  a  phrase,  and  in  a  minute  is  on  the 
top  of  the  hill  where  something  happens.  If  you  want  to  describe  a 
journey,  leave  out  the  things  that  did  not  make  you  look  twice  at  them. 
If  it  will  help  you,  take  a  pencil  and  a  sheet  of  paper  and  put  down  a 
list  of  the  things  that  stand  out  most  clearly  in  your  memory;  if  there 
are  too  many  of  them,  strike  out  those  you  care  for  least.  Work  over 
this  little  sketch  or  plan  until  you  have  clearly  in  your  mind  what 
you  want  other  people  to  see.  It  is  quite  as  important  to  use  your 
own  words  as  to  select  your  own  subjects.  When  the  style  of  a 
writer  affects  you  deeply  it  is  because  the  language  he  uses  is  alive. 
His  style  is  not  a  set  of  words  he  has  dug  out  of  a  dictionary;  he  is 
using  words  which  fit  his  ideas,  his  feelings,  his  tastes  and  character. 
There  is  great  danger  of  using  long,  impressive  or  far-fetched  words, 
instead  of  simple,  direct  and  familiar  words;  there  are  many  people 
whose  words  are  two  or  three  sizes  too  large  for  their  ideas.  This  is 
one  of  the  faults  of  compositions:  the  style  is  stilted  and  unnatural 
because  the  words  are  long  and  unfamiliar. 

One  of  the  most  wholesome  tendencies  nowadays  is  the  growing 
love  of  simplicity.  We  have  been  going  through  an  elaborate  and 
ornate  age  in  dress,  furniture,  decoration  and  speech,  and  are  begin- 
ning to  see  that  the  best  result  of  real  culture  is  simplicity,  which 
ought  to  be  the  keynote  of  graduation  exercises.  Formerly  such  occa- 
sions were  made  to  display  all  the  unused  powers  of  boys  and  girls, 
by  loading  them  with  unfamiliar  subjects  and  urging  them  to  write 
in  a  style  so  formal  that  it  had  no  more  relation  to  the  unhappy  boy 
Gr  girl  than  the  lotus-flower  has  to  the  soil  of  the  frigid  zone.  The 
victims  of  this  mistaken  idea  often  read  or  spoke  like  graven  images 
reciting  in  an  unknown  tongue.  On  public  occasions  especially  the 
natural  life  and  the  normal  interests  of  a  school  ought  to  be  brought 
into  view,  and  those  who  take  part  ought  to  be  helped  to  be  simple 
and  perfectly  natural.  It  is  a  mistake  to  take  the  life  out  of  such 
occasions  by  asking  or  permitting  boys  and  girls  to  select  subjects 
too  old  for  them  and  to  use  language  borrowed  from  bigger  people. 
The  wooden  gestures  and  solemn  manner  of  some  school-exercises 
make  them  a  purgatory  to  those  who  are  on  the  program  and  a  bore  to 
everybody  else. 


Though  the  mills  of  God  grind  slowly,  yet  they  grind 
exceedingly  small; 

Though  with  patience  He  stands  waiting,  with  exact- 
ness grinds  He  all. 

— H.  W.  Longfellow  (Translation). 


GRADUATION  DAY  105 

GRADUATING  ORATION. 

(Practical   Hints.) 


Vivian  M.  Akers. 


THE  Commencement  exercise,  as  presented  in  the  greater  number 
of  schools  and  colleges,  is  the  most  inadequate  and  unjust  test 
to  which  a  graduate  could  be  subjected.  After  years  of  unbroken 
application  to  study  so  severe  as  to  necessitate  seclusion  from  society, 
the  young  student  is  forced  to  appear  before  the  public,  with  an  origi- 
nal production  in  the  form  of  an  essay  or  an  oration,  having  had  but 
little  experience  in  writing,  and,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  absolutely 
no  instruction  in  bearing  and  in  delivery.  As  most  people  gain  their 
sole  knowledge  of  school-work  in  their  community  by  attendance  on 
annual  exercises,  they  naturally  and  almost  unconsciously  feel  that  the 
graduate  who  makes  the  best  appearance  on  that  occasion  has  been 
all  along  the  strongest  pupil.  This  is  manifestly  unjust  and  often  un- 
true. Any  teacher  will  testify  that  oftentimes  the  finest  mathemati- 
cian, the  most  accurate  and  discriminating  Latin  pupil,  is  the  shyest, 
most  diffident  member  of  the  class,  the  least  fitted  to  make  a  good 
public  impression. 

The  object  of  this  article  is  to  give  practical  helps  and  definite 
directions  how  to  avoid  embarrassment,  how  tc  be  natural,  how  to 
give  the  simplest  literary  effort  a  satisfactory  and  pleasing  delivery. 
After  the  oration  has  been  accepted,  and  before  actual  rehearsal  be- 
gins, two  things  are  especially  necessary.  The  first  is  that  you  cast 
from  you  all  sense  of  dissatisfaction  with  your  production;  and,  while 
avoiding  a  too  exalted  opinion  of  it,  compel  yourself  to  be  content 
with  your  work.  It  is  well  enough  v/hile  engaged  in  writing,  to  have 
the  mind  stimulated  by  a  desire  to  improve;  but  once  the  thing  is  done, 
and  you  feel  that  it  represents  the  best  that  is  in  ycu,  there  let  it  rest, 
and  turn  your  energies  toward  the  work  yet  to  come.  You  can  easily 
perceive  that  you  will  be  unable  to  impress  an  audience  with  the  merit 
of  a  production  of  which  you  yourself  are  ashamed.  Second,  have  the 
subject-matter  perfectly  committed  to  memory.  Whether  a  written 
copy  is  carried  in  the  hand  or  not,  this  is  equally  important.  Many 
things  are  liable  to  occur,  such  as  turning  two  pages  or  dropping  a 
sheet,  which  might  result  in  disaster  to  the  reader's  composure.  There- 
fore, know  the  text  of  your  essay  so  thoroughly  that,  in  the  words  of 
an  eminent  teacher,  you  can  repeat  it  "forward,  backward,  or  sidewise." 
The  next  step  is  rehearsing  aloud.  At  first  this  should  be  done  in 
private.  That  is,  net  in  the  presence  of  one's  classmates  or  family, 
unless  one  of  the  latter  is  competent  to  act  as  instructor.  Even  where 
one  has  a  teacher,  it  is  well  to  strengthen  the  helps  received  at  the 
lesson  by  frequent  private  rehearsals.  Use  the  pauses,  inflections,  and, 
as  nearly  as  possible,  the  volume  and  the  quality  of  tone  desired  for  the 
final  delivery.  If  the  throat  is  weak,  do  not  overtax  it  by  too  great  an 
effort  to  speak  louder.  Let  the  voice  be  intense  and  penetrating  rather 
than  loud,  else  in  your  endeavor  to  be  understood  you  will  find  yourself 
shrieking  instead  of  speaking.  Fix  your  mind  (not  your  eye)  upon  the 
remotest  corner  of  the  room,  and  strive  to  cast  the  voice  so  far.  This, 
combined  with   clear-cut   articulation,   will   solve   the   difficulty.     You 


106  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

must  be  heard,  or  all  your  labor  will  be  fruitless,  and  if  you  speak  to 
the  farthest  person  in  the  audience,  those  intermediate  must  hear  dis- 
tinctly. Though  we  are  just  now  speaking  of  rehearsal,  and  rehearsal 
in  private,  yet  I  use  the  word  "audience"  advisedly,  for  you  must  ac- 
custom yourself  to  an  imaginary  audience  if  you  wish  to  avoid  em- 
barrassment before  the  actual  one.  Can  you  in  fancy  cause  the  walls 
of  your  room  to  recede,  and  the  open  space  to  be  filled  with  faces?  It 
is  a  difficult  feat  for  the  untutored  imagination,  but  it  can  be  done, 
and  if  the  best  results  are  to  be  secured,  it  must  be  done. 

Having  then  created  an  assemblage  of  listeners,  speak  directly  to 
them.  There  is  between  the  successful  orator  and  his  hearers  a  subtle 
sympathy,  a  oneness,  a  "mental  telegraph"  along  which  he  flashes  his 
magnetic  personality,  his  brilliant  intellectuality,  causing  corresponding 
impulses  in  every  brain  in  the  circuit.  Directness  of  speech  is  the 
principal  means  of  establishing  this  connection.  It  is  not  enough,  as  is 
often  suggested,  to  select  one  person  in  the  room  and  talk  to  him  alone; 
neither  is  it  sufficient  to  regard  the  whole  audience  as  one  person,  for 
then  the  individual  feels  that  he  has  no  part  in  the  doings  of  the  hour 
but  is  merely  looking  on.  But  if  by  the  power  of  your  eye,  and  out  of 
the  fulness  of  your  desire  to  impart  your  thought,  you  can  grasp  both 
the  spirit  of  the  assembly  en  masse  and  the  fellowship  of  each  separate 
mind  in  it,  you  will  feel  your  diffidence  fall  away,  and  you  will  stand 
forth  and  deliver  your  message  with  power,  with  dignity,  with  repose, 
Each  person  will  feel  that  you  are  appealing  to  him  directly,  and  will 
send  back  to  you  such  a  wave  of  sympathy  and  appreciation  that  you 
will  be  helped  to  still  more  successful  efforts. 

When  you  have  established  this  connection,  you  are  ready  to  begin 
speaking.  For  the  opening  sentences  of  an  address,  it  is  best  to  assume 
an  easy  (not  a  jaunty)  standing  posture,  with  the  weight  of  the  body 
thrown  forward,  ever  so  little,  to  lend  earnestness  and  force  to  the 
thought,  and  with  the  arms  and  the  hands  perfectly  relaxed  by  the 
sides.  This  position  of  the  arms  is  the  fundamental  cne  from  which 
nearly  all  gestures  should  emanate.  Do  not  begin  at  once  to  make 
gestures,  but  rather  first  gain  the  attention  you  desire  by  bearing,  voice 
and  will-power,  holding  gesture  as  a  reserve  force  to  brine:  into  play 
when  the  increasing  warmth  and  action  of  your  delivery  seem  to  de- 
mand it.  Even  then  be  very  discriminating  in  employing  this  form 
of  expression,  using  it  not  as  an  end,  but  as  a  means  to  assist  language 
in  conveying  your  thought.  It  is  better  to  have  a  few  strongly  char- 
acterized and  much-needed  gestures,  or  even  none  at  all,  than  to  be 
constantly  disturbing  the  atmosphere  in  ycur  vicinity  by  waving  your 
arms  in  an  inane  and  useless,  though  possibly  graceful  manner.  When 
you  are  well  launched  into  your  theme,  and  begin  to  "feel"  your  audi- 
ence, you  may  then  begin  to  gather  up  your  forces,  here  a  little  and 
there  a  little,  holding  well  in  hand  the  advantage  already  gained,  mov- 
ing steadily  and  with  ever-increasing  momentum  to  the  end. 

In  your  daily  rehearsal  there  are  many  things  that  you  must  rigidly 
require  of  yourself.  Ascertain  the  relative  position  of  the  front  of  the 
stage  with  regard  to  the  seat  you  will  occupy  on  Commencement  Day, 
and  practice  advancing  and  retiring.  Let  your  movements  be  delib- 
erate, but  not  offensively  so,  else  it  will  seem  that  you  have  assumed 
a.  calmness  that  you  do  not  possess,  in  order  to  hide  your  real  discom- 


GRADUATION  DAY  107 

posure.  In  fact,  it  is  best  to  assume  nothing,  but  really  to  feel,  if 
possible,  as  you  wish  to  appear.  Repress  all  signs  of  nervousness, 
such  as  twiddling  the  fingers,  and  shifting  the  feet.  Do  not  look  at 
your  hands  or  feet  when  you  move  them.  Seem  not  to  think  of  them 
at  all.  Above  all,  do  not  allow  yourself  to  march  from  side  to  side  of 
the  platform  or  stage.  When  it  is  necessary  to  change  the  position,  do 
so  quietly  and  easily,  and  at  a  point  in  the  oration  where  a  new  thought 
is  introduced.  The  spectators  will  scarcely  be  conscious  that  you  have 
moved,  but  the  altered  attitude  will  add  measurably  to  the  force  of  the 
new  idea.  These  things  will  require  much  practice.  Be  unsparing  in 
your  efforts  to  remember  them  while  rehearsing.  But  when  the  real 
hour  comes  do  not  try  to  recall  a  single  one  of  the  hints  I  have  given. 
If  you  havs  been  constant  and  conscientious  in  your  preparation,  you 
may  then  throw  away  all  rules,  feeling  certain  that  the  effect  of  your 
faithfulness  will  remain  with  you,  and  be  apparent  without  special  en- 
deavor on  your  part. 

When  the  great  day  actually  dawns,  rise  at  usual  hour,  and  engage 
in  any  light  duties  that  present  themselves.  Do  not  become  excited 
by  receiving  callers,  or  by  constantly  reciting  your  "piece."  If  you  fear 
that  memory  may  fail,  it  is  well  to  read  the  oration  slowly  and  care- 
fully once  or  twice,  but  avoid  regular  rehearsal.  Do  not  keep  the  mind 
oppressed  all  day  by  fears.  Eat  light,  nourishing  food,  avoiding  candies 
and  Dastry.  Bagin  in  good  time  to  dress  for  the  evening,  that  there 
may  be  no  occasion  for  haste.  In  order  to  act  naturally,  one  must  feel 
at  ease,  and  clothing  has  much  to  do  with  the  case.  Have  the  hair 
done  in  us^'l  manner,  dress  of  ordinary  length;  do  not  wear  French- 
heeled  shoes  unless  you  have  accustomed  yourself  to  walking  in  them. 
In  a  word,  wear  nothing  so  uncomfortable  or  unusual  as  to  make  you 
think  of  yourself,  as  that  will  certainly  cause  you  to  become  em- 
barrassed. 

When  you  take  your  seat  on  the  platform,  begin  at  once  to  get 
acquainted  with  the  surroundings.  If  there  are  footlights,  do  not  allow 
their  unfamilia"  brilliancy  to  disconcert  you.  Note  carefully  the  loca- 
tion of  rugs  and  other  stage-furnishings,  and  be  prepared  to  pass  easily 
and  smoothly  to  the  front  and  back  again.  Determine  beforehand  to 
retain  your  self-possession  in  any  emergency.  A  child  may  cry  out,  or 
a  woman  may  faint,  but  you  must  not  be  disturbed  by  such  things. 
If,  at  the  last  moment,  when  your  name  is  pronounced  and  you  rise  to 
confront  that  awful  amphitheater  of  faces,  your  heart  fails,  turn  for  one 
moment  toward  that  row  where  sit  in  painful,  hopeful,  beautiful  anxiety 
that  gray-haired  father,  that  tender,  tired  mother,  who  have  given  up 
so  much  that  would  have  made  life  easier  for  them  that  you  might 
stand  where  you  do  just  now.  Look  into  their  eyes  beaming  with  love 
and  breathless  suspense,  and  draw  therefrom  inspiration  to  your  noblest 
effort.  It  is  your  duty,  it  is  your  privilege,  to  make  them  proud  of  you; 
to  make  them  feel  that  by  your  supreme  endeavor  to  do  them  honor 
the  years  of  ceaseless  watchfulness,  of  careful  tending,  of  self-sacrifice, 
all  are  this  night  repaid. 


Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty — that  is  all 

Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know. — John  Keats. 


108  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

DUTY   THE   HIGHEST    CALL. 

(Graduation  Day  Oration.) 


Eugene  Wood. 

AS  the  whole  shining  circle  of  the  sky  is  reflected  in  one  humble 
dewdrop,  so  is  the  horizon  of  life  and  its  arching  vault  of  aspira- 
tion contained  in  one  terse  phrase  of  the  catechism:  "To  do 
my  duty  in  that  station  of  life  unto  which  it  shall  please  God  to 
call  me."  Search  through  the  wide  world  of  literature  for  some  saying 
that  shall  more  fitly  set  forth  the  dignified  and  solemn  purpose  of  our 
being,  and  you  will  find  nothing  so  sturdy,  nothing  so  plain,  nothing  so 
earnest.  All  that  is  to  be  achieved,  all  that  is  to  be  endured,  the  con- 
quest of  material  things,  the  conquest  cf  the  inner  self, — all  are  in  that, 
one  word  "duty."  To  win  success,  fame,  honor,  glory,  is  no  unworthy 
incentive  to  man's  utmost  efforts,  but  not  the  greatest.  The  desire  for 
the  approbation  of  his  fellows  burns  in  the  breast  of  every  man,  and 
we  can  not  scorn  it  as  common  or  unclean.  But  what  truly  makes  for 
progress  in  the  race  is  that  spirit  within,  ever  unsatisfied  with  former 
work,  yet  ever  striving  for  that  far-off  goal  where  self  may  honestly 
declare  to  self:  "Well  done,  oh,  well  done!" 

"  'Tis  not  in  mortals  to  command  success, 
But   we'll   do   more,    Sempronius;    we'll   deserve   it!" 

If  in  the  race  of  time  the  Latin  peoples  have  been  outfooted  by  the 
Anglo-Saxons,  it  is  because  the  one  lived  and  died  for  glory,  the  other 
for  the  sake  of  simple,  English  "duty."  If  glory  be  the  meed  of  strife, 
why  struggle  when  the  battle's  lost?  But  if  the  spur  be  duty,  then 
one  must  do  his  uttermost,  regardless  of  the  outcome.  Half  the  vic- 
tories that  stir  the  pulse  and  set  the  teeth  and  make  us  proud  of  our 
illustrious  race  and  lineage  were  won  because  our  kinsmen  still  kept 
up  the  fight,  nor  ever  dreamed  that  they  were  whipped.  "Duty"  is  but 
a  plain  and  homely  word,  curt  and  elemental.  It  has  no  linked  sonority 
of  syllables  to  commend  it  to  the  hired  orator  that  celebrates  the 
praises  of  a  popular  idol.  It  does  not  thunder  on  the  tongue;  it  does 
not  flame  with  red  fire,  nor  quiver  with  the  crash  of  bands  of  music. 
In  the  clear,  white  light  that  streams  from  it  the  highest  heroism  and 
the  noblest  self-denial  seem  but  the  things  that  should  be,  the  only 
things  a  man  could  do. 

There  are  those  that  decry  this  saying  but  they  read  it  wrong. 
They  quote  it:  "In  that  station  of  life  unto  which  it  hath  pleased  God 
to  call  me,"  as  if  it  were  written  to  keep  down  the  low-born  and  to 
make  them  keep  the  place  assigned  to  them  by  a  Providence  whom  it 
were  impiety  to  strive  against.  They  forget  how  much  the  Elizabethan 
age  was  like  our  own  in  thought  and  in  feeling.  The  Western  world 
was  but  new-found,  and  in  the  struggle  for  its  spoils  the  little  isle  of 
England  woke  to  deeds  of  high  emprise.  Merchant  adventurers  sprang 
up  and  from  small  beginnings  became  men  of  wealth  and  power.  The 
ferment  of  new  learning  was  working  in  the  intellectual  world.  Kit 
Marlowe,  ill-starred  youth,  Ben  Jonson,  Shakespeare  (half-starved 
linkboy  and  poet  of  all  time),  were  springing  up.    The  quiet  of  the 


GRADUATION  DAY  109 

cloisters  of  the  church  was  broken  with  tempestuous  dispute.  All  that 
had  cnce  been  taken  on  authority  was  now  put  to  the  question.  The 
last  was  first,  what  had  been  first  was  last.  The  men  that  wrote  the 
catechism  were  of  the  new  faith, — "upstarts,"  so  their  rivals  called 
them.  Were  they  likely  to  throw  down  the  ladder  by  which  they  had 
climbed  and  to  drone  out  platitudes  about  walking  in  the  old  paths 
and  doing  as  one's  father  did  and  never  daring  to  aspire  above  the 
peasant's  lot?  Net  they.  Their  word  shows  it.  They  use  the  future, 
not  the  perfect  tense.  "To  do  my  duty  in  that  station  of  life  unto 
which  it  shall  please  God  to  call  me."  In  that  one  word  lies  all  the 
difference  between  the  spirit  of  the  Dark  Ages  and  the  spirit  of  the 
Renaissance.  The  first  looked  backward,  peering  through  the  shadows 
of  past  years,  declaring  it  discerned  a  constituted  plan  and  scope  of 
things,  sTave  to  be  slave,  king  to  be  king,  until  the  end  of  time.  Thus 
it  had  always  been,  thus  should  it  always  be.  But  the  Renaissance 
turned  toward  the  light,  presuming  not  to  say  what  God  had  ordered 
for  each  rank  and  station,  but,  with  a  faith  sublime,  trusting  each  soul 
to  hear  the  higher  call  and  prove  its  worthiness  by  climbing  up  through 
every  hardship  that  opposed.  There  is  no  altitude  too  high  to  be 
included  in  that  call;  there  is  no  breadth  too  wide  but  duty  may  stretch 
out  to  it.  There  remains,  then,  only  the  dimension  of  depth,  gauged 
by  the  impelling  force  of  each  one's  character.  By  these  and  these 
alone  we  must  determine  what  is  to  be  the  space  we  are  to  occupy  in 
the  new  life  that  lies  before  us. 


STRUGGLE,  THE  PRICE  OF  PROGRESS. 

(Graduation  Day  Oration.) 


A  BRAVE  hunter,  so  the  legend  reads,  wandering  one  day  beside 
a  forest  stream,  caught  for  an  instant  the  reflection  of  a  beauti- 
ful bird  in  the  water  at  his  feet.  Snow-white  the  image  was, 
and  cf  such  rare  beauty  that  the  hunter  strained  his  eyes  but  found 
nothing  like  the  vision  in  the  blue  vault  above  him.  As  he  stood 
amazed,  and  full  of  a  deep  longing  to  see  once  more  what  had  been 
granted  to  him  but  for  a  moment,  a  voice  addressed  him  thus: 

"Young  man,  the  bird  which  you  have  seen  is  called  Truth.  He 
who  has  once  seen  her  never  rests  again.  Till  death  he  desires  her. 
The  Mountain  of  Mystery  will  rise  before  him.  He  must  climb  it; 
beyond  lies  Truth.  Some  men  have  struggled  up  that  mountain;  circle 
above  circle  of  bare  rock  they  have  scaled;  and,  wandering  there  in 
those  high  regions,  some  have  chanced  to  pick  up  on  the  ground  one 
white-silver  feather  dropped  from  the  wing  of  Truth;  and  it  shall  come 
to  pass  that  when  enough  of  those  silver  feathers  have  been  woven 
into  a  cord,  and  the  cord  into  a  net,  that  in  that  net  Truth  may  be 
captured.     Nothing  but  Truth  can  hold  Truth." 

The  hunter  turned  resolutely  toward  the  mountain;  year  after  year 
he  labored;  step  after  step  he  cut  in  the  huge  rocks  that  rose  tier  upon 
tier  above  him.  His  hair  grew  white;  his  fingers  stiff  and  bent,  yet 
onward  still  he  toiled.  At  last  his  strength  departed.  Tears  gathered 
in  his  eyes.  He  looked  sorrowfully  down  upon  his  work  and  bravely 
said:  "Where  I  lie  down,  worn  out,  other  men  will  stand;  by  the  steps 


HO  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

which  I  have  made,  they  will  mount;  by  the  stairs  which  I  have  cut, 
they  will  climb;  they  will  find  her,  and  through  me;  'for  no  man  liveth 
to  himself  and  no  man  dieth  to  himself.' " 

Far  above  us,  in  the  illimitable  blue,  the  white  bird  of  Truth  com- 
plete still  flies  in  perfect  freedom,  untempted  by  any  net  which  the  hand 

of  man  has  made.    When  we,  Class  of ,  sit  in  judgment  upon  our 

collegiate  course,  what  silver  feather  of  Truth  does  it  offer  us?  What 
steps  have  been  hewn  out  of  the  Mountain  of  Mystery  o'er  whose 
cloud-capped  head  the  white  bird  sails?  Positively,  emphatically, 
comes  the  answer:  Steps  have  been  cut;  the  mountain  is  less  a  mys- 
tery than  before;  and,  best  of  all,  one  white-silver  feather  has  been 
captured.  It  is  called,  "the  price  of  progress."  It  is  labor;  it  is  strug- 
gle; the  labor  of  one  against  many;  a  negative  activity  which  beats  and 
hurls  itself  against  the  wrong,  frequently,  in  the  end,  to  be  overcome 
by  the  wrong!  Not  so!  The  price  of  progress  is  truly  the  struggle 
that  overcometh,  because  it  is  the  struggle  not  of  one,  not  of  many — it 
is  universal  activity. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  19th  century,  those  Americans,  who  had 
not  a  share  in  the  material  blessings  of  life,  recognized  that  they  must 
take  up  the  cross  of  labor;  but  they  took  it  up  of  necessity,  and,  as 
they  hoped,  they  took  it  up  temporarily.  To-day  our  greatest  men,  our 
richest  men,  our  wisest  men,  are  teaching  us  a  different  doctrine. 
Labor  we  must,  not  only  because  he  who  will  not  work  may  not  eat, 
but  because  he  who  will  not  work  may  not  live.  Life,  the  heart,  the 
core,  of  the  Mountain  of  Mystery,  cries  for  labor. 

"What,  without   asking-  hither  hurried  whence, 
And  without   asking;   whither   hurried   hence," 

we  do  not  know.  The  Arc  of  the  Before  and  the  Arc  of  the  After,  the 
perfect  circle,  is  still  beyond  our  ken.  But  we  do  know  that  the  law 
of  our  natures,  the  law  of  life,  the  Arc  of  the  Present,  urges,  nay  com- 
pels us,  to  act  the  part  of  the  hunter,  to  fight  our  way  toward  Truth, 
to  master  the  Mountain  of  Mystery  and  catch,  if  may  be,  immortal 
Truth  herself,  who  alone  can  point  out  to  us  the  perfect  circle,  shining 
in  the  radiant  blue  of  a  heaven  still  unknown  to  mortal  eyes. 

The  price  of  progress,  then,  is  struggle.  It  is  struggle  not  for  one ; 
it  is  struggle  for  all.  The  Gospel  of  Work  is  a  gospel  not  for  one 
nation,  not  for  one  class — it  is  the  universal  creed,  it  is  the  universal 
hope.  The  Arc  of  the  Present  invites  no  one  to  a  mossy  bank  of  rest. 
It  has  no  system  of  ethics  which  provides  for  a  class  of  idle  exotics. 
It  has  no  clause  in  its  creed  which  bids  the  dreamer  drug  his  faculties 
in  the  pleasing  potion  of  his  light  and  airy  fancy.  To  one  and  all  sounds 
the  trumpet-blast,  "Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  all 
thy  might."  To  the  gay  woman  of  fashion,  to  the  landed  gentleman 
of  leisure,  to  the  college  man,  and  to  the  college  woman,  comes  the 
message  of  the  century  through  the  lips  of  John  Ruskin:  "It  is  our 
duty,  first,  to  live  on  as  little  as  we  can;  secondly,  to  do  all  the  whole- 
some work  for  it  we  can,  and  to  spend  all  we  can  spare  in  doing  all  the 
sure  good  we  can.  And  sure  good  is,  first,  in  feeding  people;  then  in 
dressing  people;  then  in  lodging  people;  and,  lastly,  in  rightly  pleasing 
people,  with  arts,  or  sciences,  or  any  other  subject  of  thought." 


GRADUATION  DAY  111 

In  doing  this  work,  which  in  very  deed  we  can't  travel  far  up  the 
Mountain  of  Mystery  without  finding,  shall  we  pay  the  price  of  pro- 
gress? Shall  we  mount  to  those  high  regions  where  Truth  moves  with 
the  steerage  of  her  wings?  Yea,  verily;  for,  saith  the  hunter,  "no  man 
liveth  to  himself,  and  no  man  dieth  to  himself."  If  we  advance,  we 
must  advance  together;  and,  until  we  have  cleared  the  way  for  all  to 
rise  to  that  great  height  where  the  silver  feather  of  the  century  has 
fallen,  until  we  all  know  the  price  of  progress,  we  can  hope  "to  see 
but  as  through  a  glass,  darkly,"  even  the  Arc  of  the  Present  radiant 
in  the  light  of  its  great  lesson  of  work,  and  work  idealized — work  which 
is  no  longer  the  service  of  the  slave,  but  the  service  of  the  freeman; 
the  labor  of  the  artist;  the  labor  of  him  who  gets  the  same  joy  out  of 
each  stroke  on  his  canvas  that  he  gets  out  of  the  picture  completed; 
the  labor  of  him  who  sees  the  end  in  the  beginning.  What  matter, 
then,  if  you  are  a  hewer  of  wood,  and  I,  a  drawer  of  water?  Have 
we,  too,  not  learned  that  to  mount  we  must  mount  together,  "that  no 
man  liveth  to  himself,  and  no  man  dieth  to  himself?" 

Then,  and  only  then,  when  this  great  work  is  finished;  when  the 
cry  of  the  homeless,  "I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me  not  in,"  and 
the  cry  of  the  perishing,  "I  was  naked,  and  ye  clothed  me  not,"  and 
the  cry  of  the  dying,  "I  was  an  hungered,  and  ye  gave  me  no  food," 
shall  cease  on  this  fair  earth,  then,  and  only  then,  may  cease,  for  lack 
of  need,  "the  toil  of  serf  and  sweeper,  the  tale  of  common  things." 
Then,  and  only  then,  shall  we  have  earned  the  right  to  the  faith  of 
our  fathers,  to  the  faith  of  our  prophets,  to  the  faith  of  Rudyard  Kip- 
ling, who  said: 

"When  earth's  last  picture  is  painted,  and  the  tubes  are  twisted  and  dried, 
When  the  oldest  colors  have  faded,  and  the  youngest  critic  has  died, 
We  shall  rest,  and,  faith,  we  shall  need  it — lie  down  for  an  aeon  or  two, 
Till  the  Master   of  all  good  workmen  shall  set  us  to  work  anew! 

"And  those  that  were  good  shall  be  happy;  they  shall  sit  in  a  golden  chair; 
They  shall  splash  at  a  ten-league   canvas   with  brushes  of   comets'  hair; 
They  shall  find  real  saints  to   draw   from — Magdalene,   Peter,   and  Paul; 
They  shall  work  for  an  age  at  a  sitting  and  never  be  tired  at  all! 

"And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  us,  and  only  the  Master  shall  blame! 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  money,  and  no  one  shall  work  for  fame; 
But  each   for  the  joy  of  the  working,   and  each,   in  his  separate   star, 
Shall  draw  the  thing  as  he  sees  it  for  the   God  of  things  as  they  are!" 


WISDOM  FROM  ONE'S  NEIGHBORS. 

(Graduation  Day  Essay.) 


William  G.  Ward. 


EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE  tells  us  to  talk  for  fifteen  minutes 
every  day  to  some  one  wiser  than  we  are.  To  whom  would 
Mr.  Hale  himself  talk?  He  probably  would  answer, — to  some 
one  wiser  in  some  direction;  or  to  a  distant  man,  Shakespeare  for  in- 
stance, if  you  have  no  near  neighbors.  But  you  have  near  neighbors, 
who  know  something  of  importance,  if  they  could  be  brought  to  think 
so.  Your  interest  in  them  may  cause  them  to  think  better  of  their 
own  life,  and  thus  accomplish  Mr.  Hale's  purpose  for  them,  if  not  for 


112  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

yourself.  Therefore,  if  you  are  not  always  able  to  find  the  person  wiser 
than  yourself,  you  may  at  least  find  one  equally  useful  to  you,  in  some 
direction.  This  is  the  lesson  which  we  must  learn  to  value, — the  nov- 
elty, the  beauty,  and  the  worth  of  every  individual,  when  viewed  from 
the  standpoint  of  art,  by  one  who  is  an  artist.  The  great  mistake  of 
modern  culture  has  been  in  trying  to  make  all  persons  alike.  To  make 
every  one  know  a  little  of  everything,  and  feel  uncomfortable  because 
he  does  not  know  more  about  anything.  Instead  of  that,  we  are  now 
trying  to  have  them  feel  proud  and  confident  because  they  really  know 
a  great  deal  about  something.  That  particular  something  they  not  only 
know,  but  they  can  do — can  express  that  feeling,  that  attribute,  in 
their  own  lives.  No  one  is  interesting  except  in  doing  and  being  the 
thing  that  he  is.  Hence  you  must  always  find  out  what  the  person 
can  do,  or  what  he  stands  for,  and  then  talk  to  him  about  what  he 
really  knows.  Great  literature,  and  all  great  art,  is  built  on 
the  principle  of  making  every  man  true  to  himself.  He  must 
be  himself,  must  express  himself.  Dogberry  may  or  may  not 
think  well  of  his  own  virtues,  but  we  can  think  well  of  him  only  on  the 
condition  that  he  shall  be  constant  to  Dogberry  in  thought,  word,  and 
action.  Many  a  Dogberry  has  been  lost  to  the  world  of  letters,  as 
well  as  many  a  Hero  and  many  a  Beatrice,  for  want  of  the  sympathetic 
lover  of  human  nature  who  shall  find  him  out,  and  forever  fix  him  in 
his  own  orbit. 

But  how  are  we  to  interest  people  in  revealing  to  us  their  inner 
life?  By  respecting  them.  When  they  feel  honored  by  our  interest 
in  them,  and  in  their  affairs,  they  will  reveal  themselves.  Only  the 
dry-rot  of  conventionality  makes  one  despise  his  own  growth,  his  own 
town,  his  own  home.  People  are  astonishingly  interesting  when  you 
can  get  them  to  express  themselves,  instead  of  trying  to  be  something 
which  they  are  not,  and  cannot  be.  The  mere  bald  facts  of  the  life 
in  any  community  may  be  unimportant,  or  even  decidedly  unlovely. 
Visit  the  scene  of  very  many  of  the  world's  great  events  and  you  will 
find  they  shock  you  at  first  with  disappointment.  But  you  must  not 
stop  there.  Let  the  imagination  play  with  the  place;  idealize  it,  at 
least  as  much  as  the  past  has  been  idealized.  Do  not  be  too  severe 
with  our  new  earth,  merely  because  it  is  new,  and  because  it  is  Ameri- 
can.   Keep  the  artist  standpoint  as  with  Bryant  you  look  upon 

"The   hills 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun, — the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between; 
The  venerable  woods — rivers  that  move 
In  majesty,   and  the  complaining  brooks 
That  make  the  meadows  green;  and,  poured  round  all, 
Old   ocean's  gray  and  melancholy   waste." 

Surely  to  idealize  this  much  is  not  going  far.  But  now  take  a  step 
further.  Let  your  vision  include  not  only  the  hills  and  the  vales,  but 
the  inhabitants  as  well,  until  you  can  say  with  Wordsworth, 

"For  I  have  learned 
To  look  on  nature,  not  as  in  the  hour 
Of  thoughtless  youth,  but  hearing  oftentimes 
The  still   sad  music   of  humanity, 
Nor  harsh  nor  grating,  though  of  ample  power 
To  chasten,  and  subdue." 


GRADUATION  DAY  113 

If  this  does  not  appal  you,  as  entirely  surpassing  the  bounds  of  possi- 
bility with  reference  to  your  own,  your  native  land,  then  there  is  one 
step  more  you  may  take.  Talk  fifteen  minutes  with  Browning,  while 
he  tells  us  how 

"I  but  open  niy  eyes — and  perfection,  no  more  and  no  less, 
In  the  kind  I  imagined,  full-fronts  me,  and  God  is  seen  God 
In  the  star,  in  the  stone,  in  the  flesh,  in  the  soul  and  the  clod. 
And  thus  looking  within  and  around  me,  I  ever  renew 
(With  that  stoop  of  the  soul  which  in  bending  upraises  it  too) 
The  submission  of  man's  nothing-perfect  to  God's  all-complete, 
As  by  each  new  obeisance  in  spirit,  I  climb  to  His  feet." 

The  country  in  which  he  saw  this  was  the  poor  parched  desert  of 
Palestine,  with  the  morally  degenerate  and  hopelessly  decadent  king 
who  ruled  over  it.  Why  not  apply  the  same  splendid  optimism  to  our 
own  incomparable  fatherland,  and  to  our  own  resplendent  nobility  of 
public  and  private  citizenship?  Hegel  says  that  a  human  being  may 
express  himself  by  planting  a  tree,  building  a  house,  or  rearing  a  fam- 
ily. As  an  ultimate  expression  this  is  true.  But  may  not  equally  de- 
sirable results  be  obtained  by  teaching  people  how  to  appreciate  the 
trees  already  planted;  how  to  dignify  by  noble  living  the  houses  already 
built;  how  to  train  the  tender  human  twigs  in  the  families  already  rear- 
ing? Ruskin  spent  a  long  and  useful  life  in  doing  these  very  things 
for  the  English-speaking  world.  How  many  of  you  are  following  his 
example?  Keep  the  artist  standpoint;  keep  it  loyally,  with  all  its  wide' 
interest  in  earth  and  air  and  sky;  with  all  its  broad  tolerance  and 
magnanimity  toward  human  bias  and  human  frailty;  with  all  its  hidden 
wealth  for  eyes  that  see  aright,  and  for  hearts  that  beat  true.  Then 
if  you  cannot  always  find  your  superior  for  that  daily  conversation, 
you  may  at  least  reveal  a  new  standpoint  to  some  one  else,  which  will 
make  every  to-morrow  superior  to  its  yesterday,  both  for  him  and  for 
yourself.  This  much  we  expect  of  you;  and  we  feel  sure  that  in  such 
service  you  will  never  grow  weary.  Certainly  you  cannot,  if  you  re- 
member Schiller's  aphorism,  "Then  only  do  I  truly  enjoy  my  life  when 
every  day  I  re-conquer  it,  as  a  new  possession." 

LATIN  AND  GREEK  ESSENTIAL  STUDIES. 

(Graduation  Day  Address.) 


George  Frisbee  Hoar, 

(Late    United    States    Senator.) 


FOR  a  good  many  years  I  have  been  a  good  deal  in  legislative 
chambers  and  court-houses,  and  have  addressed  hundreds  of 
political  meetings,  and  heard  and  read  thousands  upon  thousands 
of  sermons.  I  have  had  a  great  chance  to  observe  what  training  fits 
men  to  convince  and  persuade  their  auditors  by  speech,  a  faculty  in- 
dispensable to  orators,  statesmen,  advocates  and  preachers.  Indeed, 
no  man  can  live  in  this  country,  with  his  eyes  open,  and  not  have 
occasion  to  think  of  the  great  problem  by  what  form  of  education  are 
we  to  get  the  best  men  as  material  for  our  public  service.  Until  lately 
it  has  been  almost  universally  thought  that  this  faculty  was  best  gained 


114  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

and  attained  by  the  study  of  Latin  and  Greek,  familiarity  with  the  best 
models  of  style  in  those  languages,  and  the  habit  of  translating  them 
into  English.  Proficiency  in  these  things  was  required  for  the  college 
degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts.  The  rank  of  students  in  colleges  and 
universities  was  determined  by  that  standard;  but  of  late  the  rigor 
of  this  rule  has  been  relaxed,  so  that  now  a  degree  of  A.  B.,  in  some 
of  our  foremost  universities,  may  be  given  to  youths  who  have  never 
studied  Greek  at  all;  and  if  Latin  be  required  for  entrance,  or  to  be 
studied  for  a  part  of  the  course,  the  student  may,  if  he  choose,  dis- 
continue the  study  of  Latin,  of  which  he  may  have  had  but  a  poor 
smattering,  and  that  pretty  much  forgotten  before  he  gets  through. 
I  hope  and  believe  that  in  this  matter  of  the  elective  system  the  pen- 
dulum will  swing  back  again.  All  countries  have  had  great  examples 
of  men  who  are  called  self-educated  men.  We  have  had  Franklin  and 
Abraham  Lincoln,  and  others  quite  worthy  to  be  named  with  these. 
But  I  believe  that  all  of  them  would  have  agreed  that  they  themselves 
would  have  been  better  fitted  for  the  work  they  did  if  they  could  have 
had  a  good  college  training;  and  that  their  education,  so  far  as  they 
learned  anything  of  science  or  literature,  was  not  as  good  for  their 
own  purpose  as  that  they  could  have  got  from  a  good  college.  It 
was  to  the  experience  and  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  of  the  char- 
acter of  the  people  that  they  gained  in  an  early  life  of  hardship  and 
poverty,  and  the  confidence  of  the  people,  who  regarded  them  as  pecul- 
iarly belonging  to  them,  that  their  power  over  the  people  was  owing 
and  not  specially  to  their  faculty  of  speaking  or  writing,  marvelous  as 
that  may  have  been. 

I  think  the  best  character  intellectually  and  morally,  the  best  type 
of  cultivated  manhood,  the  best  instrument  for  the  people's  service  in 
public  life,  or  at  the  bar,  or  in  the  pulpit,  the  most  perfectly  rounded 
type  and  example  of  the  gentleman  which  the  world  has  so  far  seen, 
is  to  be  found  in  the  product  of  universities  and  colleges.  It  is  a  type 
of  manhood  which  is  improving  and  growing  better  frcm  generation 
to  generation.  Now  I  think  I  have  a  very  deep-seated  and  strong  con- 
viction that  one  powerful  influence  in  forming  such  a  character,  in  the 
matter  of  taste,  of  mental  vigor,  of  the  capacity  for  public  speaking 
and  for  writing,  in  the  power  of  conveying  with  clearness  and  force 
and  persuasive  power,  without  any  ioss  in  the  transmission,  the  thought 
that  is  in  the  mind  of  the  speaker  cr  writer  to  the  mind  of  the  people, 
is  to  study  and  translate  what  are  called  the  classics,  the  great  Latin 
and  Greek  authors.  I  think  this  not  only  an  important  but  an  essen- 
tial instrumentality,  I  do  not  object  to  the  education  of  youth,  de- 
signed for  other  employment  than  these  professions  or  public  life,  at 
the  same  institutions,  or  in  the  same  classes,  with  those  of  whom  1 
have  spoken.  Indeed,  I  think  they  ought  to  be  so  educated,  and  that 
in  general  it  would  be  better  for  them  to  be  educated  in  the  same  way. 
If  in  any  respect  they  ought  to  have  a  different  training  and  the  inter- 
ests of  the  two  are  in  conflict,  let  their  interest  give  way  or  be  post- 
poned to  the  other.  Certainly  do  not  take  any  risk  of  spoiling  the 
classical  education  by  striving  to  blend  any  other  with  it. 

Now  if  this  be  true,  how  unwise  to  permit  the  boy  who  is  destined 
for  such  a  career  to  elect  in  his  youth  that  he  will  attempt  it,  without 


GRADUATION  DAY  115 

using  the  best  means  and  instrumentalities  to  fit  himself  for  it.  You 
put  before  him  the  temptation  of  an  easier  way  of  getting  into  college; 
you  put  before  him  a  motive  slight,  but  still  enough  to  determine  the 
decision  of  a  child,  to  join  some  favorite  companion  in  a  study,  to  avoid 
a  disagreeable  teacher,  or  to  study  under  an  agreeable  teacher,  or  to 
get  rid  of  severe  labor,  or  some  other  of  the  thousand  motives  that 
affect  the  immature  fancy  of  youth,  or  you  put  upon  the  parent  a 
responsibility  for  which  he  or  she  is  utterly  unfit,  and  which  the  uni- 
versity or  college,  if  it  has  good  government,  ought  to  assume,  and 
the  fate  of  the  boy  is  decided.  Foreign  languages,  especially  the  dead 
languages,  are  not  learned,  as  a  rule,  after  one  comes  to  manhood. 
The  elective  system  dooms  the  scholar  to  be  shut  out  forever  and  for- 
ever from  the  literature  of  Greece  and  Rome.  I  do  not  know  that 
that  literature  is  greater  than  that  which  is  known  as  the  Jewish  Scrip- 
tures. But  the  religious  literature  of  the  Hebrews  comes  to  us,  I  sup- 
pose, without  substantial  loss,  through  the  medium  of  our  great  trans- 
lation. On  the  other  hand,  there  are  to  be  found  in  the  English  lan- 
guage few  examples  of  a  translation  from  which  the  Englishman  or 
the  American,  who  does  not  know  Greek  or  Latin,  can  get  the  least 
conception  of  the  original. 

Your  boy  is  to  be  an  artist.  Will  you  let  him,  if  you  expect  him 
to  gain  a  high  place  in  his  art,  elect  before  he  is  twenty  years  old, 
perhaps  before  he  is  twelve  years  old,  or  will  you  let  somebody  elect 
for  him,  that  he  shall  never  in  his  life  see  a  work  of  Greek  or  Italian 
art?  And  yet  your  elective  system  dooms  to  a  like  fate,  to  a  worse 
fate,  the  boy  who  expects  to  follow  some  calling,  to  which  refinement 
of  taste,  clearness  and  precision  of  thought,  vigor  and  power  of  utter- 
ance, the  gift  of  eloquence,  the  capacity  to  persuade,  the  capacity  to 
delight,  to  set  on  fire  the  people  whom  he  addresses,  is  indispensable; 
and  he  never  in  his  life,  if  you  have  your  way,  is  to  know  any  of  the 
great  things  of  this  kind  which  mankind  have  done  from  the  beginning 
of  time,  except  what  are  found  in  his  native  tongue.  Of  one  thing  I 
feel  very  confident.  That  is,  that  the  men  whom  I  have  known  at 
th^  bar,  in  public  life,  and  in  the  pulpit,  who  have  been  good  Latin  or 
Greek  scholars,  and  who  have  kept  up  the  love  and  study  of  either 
language  through  life,  especially  those  who  have  been  lovers  of  Greek, 
have  shown  great  superiority  in  the  matter  of  effective  public  speak- 
ing. Certainly  the  biographies  of  Englishmen  of  note  for  the  last 
hundred  years  will  show  the  same  thing. 

DESPISE   NOT  LITTLE  THINGS. 

(Graduation  Day  Essay.) 


THERE  is  nothing,  however  small,  in  nature  that  has  not  its  ap- 
propriate use,  nothing,  however  insignificant  it  may  appear,  that 
has  not  some  important  mission  to  fulfil.  The  living  dust  that 
swarms  in  :lusters  about  our  cheese,  the  mildew  casting  its  emerald 
tint  over  our  preserves,  the  lichen  and  the  moss  wearing  away  the 
words  of  grief  and  honor  engraved  upon  the  tombs  of  our  forefathers, 
have  each  their  appropriate  work,  and  are  all  important  in  the  great 
economy  of  nature.     By  the  steady  and  long-continued  efforts  of  this 


116  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

fragile  little  plant,  high  mountains  have  been  leveled,  which  no  human 
power  could  have  brought  from  their  towering  heights.  Castles  and 
strongholds,  raised  by  the  hand  of  man,  have  proved  weak  and  power- 
less under  the  ravages  of  this  tiny  agent,  and  become  scenes  of  ruin 
and  desolation — the  habitations  of  the  owl  and  the  bat.  Yet  who,  to 
look  upon  the  lichen,  would  think  it  could  do  all  this? — so  modest  that 
we  might  almost  take  it  for  a  part  of  the  ground  upon  which  we  tread. 
Contemplate  its  unobtrusive  course;  endowed  by  nature  with  an  or- 
ganization capable  of  vegetating  in  the  most  unpropitious  circum- 
stances— requiring  little  more  than  moisture  of  the  atmosphere  to  sus- 
tain it,  the  lichen  sends  forth  its  small  filamentous  roots  and  clings  to 
the  hard,  dry  rock  with  a  determined  pertinacity.  These  little  fibers 
find  their  way  into  the  minute  crevices  of  the  stone;  now,  firmly  at- 
tached, the  rain-drops  lodge  upon  their  fronds,  and,  filtering  to  their 
roots,  moisten  the  space  which  they  occupy,  and  the  little  plant  is 
then  enabled  to  work  itself  farther  into  the  rock;  the  dimensions  of 
the  aperture  become  enlarged,  and  the  water  runs  in  in  greater  quanti- 
ties. This  work,  carried  on  by  a  legion  ten  thousand  strong,  soon 
pierces  the  stony  cliff  with  innumerable  fissures,  which  being  filled 
with  rain,  the  frost  causes  to  split,  and  large  pieces  roll  down  to  the 
levels  beneath,  to  become  soil  for  the  growth  of  a  more  exalted  vege- 
tation. Is  not  this  a  lesson  worth  learning  from  the  book  of  nature? 
"Persevere,  and  despise  not  little  things."  The  poorest  and  humblest 
of  men  will  be  able  to  accomplish  great  things,  if  he  will  take  the 
precept  to  himself. 

Nature  is  full  of  examples  to  stimulate  us  to  perseverance,  and 
beautiful  illustrations  of  how  much  can  be  achieved  by  trifles  unheeded 
by  the  multitude.  The  worms  that  we  tread  in  the  dust  are  the  choicest 
friends  of  the  husbandman.  They  loosen  and  throw  up  in  nutritious 
mealy  hillocks  the  hardest  and  most  unprofitable  soil — the  stones  dis- 
appear, and  where  all  was  sterility  and  worthlessness,  is  soon  rich  with 
luxurious  vegetation.  We  may  call  to  mind,  too,  the  worm  upon  the 
mulberry-tree,  and  its  miles  of  fine-spun  glistening  silk;  we  may  watch 
the  process  of  its  transformation  till  the  choice  fabric  which  its  patient 
industry  has  produced  is  dyed  by  an  infusion  gained  from  another  little 
insect  (the  cochineal),  and  then  endowed  with  the  glory  of  tint  and 
softness  of  texture,  it  is  cut  into  robes  to  deck  the  beauty  of  our  wives 
and  daughters.  Where  is  the  man,  sluggard  though  he  be,  who  would 
not  shake  off  his  slothfulness  on  observing  the  patient  industry  and 
frugal  economy  of  the  little  ant?  or  where  is  the  drunkard  and  spend- 
thrift who  could  watch  the  bee,  so  busy  in  garnering  up  a  rich  store 
for  the  coming  winter,  and  not  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel,  and  think 
of  old  age? 

If  we  turn  from  the  book  of  nature  and  open  the  annals  of  dis- 
covery and  science,  many  instances  of  the  importance  of  little  things 
will  start  up  and  crowd  around  us.  By  the  accidental  mixing  of  a  little 
nitre  and  potash,  gunpowder  was  discovered.  In  ancient  times,  some 
merchants  traveling  across  a  sandy  desert,  could  find  no  rock  at  hand 
on  which  to  kindle  a  fire  to  prepare  their  food;  as  a  substitute,  they 
took  a  block  of  alkali  from  among  their  heaps  of  merchandise,  and 
lit  a  fire  thereon.     They  stared  with  surprise  when  they  saw  the  huge 


GRADUATION  DAY  117 

block  melting  beneath  the  heat,  and  still  more  so,  when  they  discov- 
ered that,  mingled  with  the  sand,  it  had  been  transformed  into  a  hard 
and  shining  substance.  From  this  originated  the  making  of  glass. 
The  sunbeams  dazzling  on  a  crystal  prism  unfolded  the  whole  theory 
of  colors.  A  few  rude  types  carved  from  a  wooden  block  have  been 
the  means  of  revolutionizing  nations,  rooting  out  the  most  hardened 
despotisms — of  driving  away  a  multitude  of  imps  of  superstition,  which 
for  ages  had  been  the  terror  of  the  learned,  and  of  spreading  the  light 
of  truth  and  knowledge  from  the  frontiers  of  civilization  to  the  coasts 
of  darkness  and  barbarism.  "We  must  destroy  the  Press,"  exclaimed 
the  furious  Wolsey,  "or  the  Press  will  destroy  us."  The  battle  was 
fought,  the  Press  was  triumphant.  The  swinging  of  a  lamp  .suspended 
from  a  ceiling  led  Galileo  to  search  into  the  laws  of  oscillation  of  the 
pendulum;  and  by  the  fall  of  an  apple  the  great  Newton  was  led  to 
unfold  what  had  hitherto  been  deemed  one  of  the  secrets  of  nature. 
When  the  heart  of  the  woolspinner  of  Genoa  was  sickening  with  "hope 
deferred,"  and  his  men,  who  had  long  been  straining  their  eyes  in  vain 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  land,  were  about  to  burst  into  open  mutiny, 
Columbus  picked  up  a  piece  of  wood  which  he  found  floating  on  the 
waters.  The  shore  must  be  nigh,  he  thought,  from  whence  this  branch 
has  wafted,  and  the  inference  inspired  the  fainting  hearts  of  his  crew 
to  persevere  and  gain  the  hoped-for  land. 

Such  trifles  have  often  befriended  genius.  Accidentally  observing 
a  red-hot  iron  become  elongated  by  passing  between  iron  cylinders, 
suggested  the  improvements  effected  by  Arkwright  in  the  spinning  ma- 
chinery. A  piece  of  thread  and  a  few  small  beads  were  means  suf- 
ficient, in  the  hands  of  Ferguson,  to  ascertain  the  situation  cf  the  stars 
in  the  heavens.  The  discovery  of  Galvani  was  made  by  a  trifling  oc- 
currence: a  knife  happened  to  be  brought  into  contact  with  a  dead  frog 
lying  on  the  board  of  the  chemist's  laboratory,  the  muscles  of  the 
reptile  were  observed  to  be  severely  convulsed — experiments  soon  un- 
folded the  whole  theory  of  galvanism.  The  history  of  the  gas-light  is 
curious,  and  illustrates  cur  subject.  Dr.  Clayton  distilled  seme  coal 
in  a  retort;  and,  confining  the  vapor  in  a  bladder,  amused  his  friends 
by  burning  it  as  it  issued  from  a  pin-hole.  It  was  left  for  Murdock  to 
suggest  its  adoption  as  a  means  of  illuminating  our  streets  and  adding 
to  the  splendor  of  our  shops. 

If  God  has  instilled  the  instinct  of  frugality  into  the  ant,  and  told 
us,  in  His  written  word,  to  go  learn  her  ways  and  be  wise,  think  you 
He  will  be  displeased  to  observe  the  same  habits  of  economy  in  us? 
To  achieve  independence,  you  must  practice  habitual  frugality;  and, 
while  enjoying  the  present,  think  now  and  then  of  the  possibility  of 
a  rainy  day.  Recollect  the  precepts  and  life  of  Franklin,  and  a  thou- 
sand others  who  rose  to  wealth  and  honor  by  looking  after  little  things. 
Be  resolute,  persevere,  and  prosper.  Do  not  wait  for  the  assistance  of 
others  in  your  progress  through  life.  Gird  up  your  loins;  meet  diffi- 
culties and  troubles  with  dauntless  courage;  resist  every  temptation 
that  may  allure  you  to  indolence  or  every  fascination  that  may  lead  to 
prodigality;  think  not  that  the  path  to  wealth  or  knowledge  is  all  sun- 
shine and  honey;  look  fcr  it  .only  by  long  year3  of  vigorous  and  well- 
directed  activity;  let  no  opportunity  pass  for  self -improvement      The 


118  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

dove  did  not  return  to  Noah  with  the  olive-branch  till  the  second  time 
of  her  going  forth;  why,  then,  should  you  despond  at  the  failure  of  a 
first  attempt!    Persevere,  and  above  all,  despise  not  little  things. 


AWAKENING  OF  THE  SOUL. 

(Graduation  Day  Essay.) 


"We  all,  with  open  face  beholding  as  in  a  glass  the  glory  of  the 
iLord,  are  changed  into  the  same  image  from  glory  to  glory." 
—St.  Paul,  2  Cor.  III.,   18. 

ONE  of  the  divinest  compensations  in  the  life  of  a  teacher  is  the 
opportunity  to  see  the  awakening  of  the  soul;  the  opportunity  to 
mark  its  gradual  unfolding  beneath  the  transforming  power  of 
lofty  purposes  and  correct  ideals.  In  common  with  you,  I  have  for  the 
last  few  days  watched  the  culmination  of  this  process;  not  its  comple- 
tion, for  its  growth  goes  on  forever.  Those  whom  we  welcomed  as 
strangers  three  or  four  years  ago  have  stood  before  us,  at  last,  trans- 
formed, glorified.  Radiant  with  the  light  of  truth  and  the  beauty  of 
sincerity,  they  have  left  an  abiding  impression  on  us,  and  on  the  col- 
lege spirit.  Nor  have  they  failed  to  stimulate  our  minds  and  hearts 
to  higher  zeal.  As  I  listened,  I  have  been  thinking,  What  recompense 
have  you  for  masters  such  as  these?  They  reach  new  heights.  They 
come  to  you  with  a  message.  In  answer,  I  can  only  reply,  These 
moments  of  transfiguration  are  equally  profitable  for  all  of  us.  No  one 
comes  down  from  the  mountain  the  same  person  who  went  up.  The 
infusion  of  new  life  comes  to  us  all  in  common,  whether  we  are  con- 
scious of  it  or  not.  As  we  behold,  we,  too,  are  changed  "into  the 
same  image  from  glory  to  glory."  I  often  think  that  Dante,  as  he 
tried  to  see  with  the  eyes  of  his  soul,  while  fulfilling  his  promise  to 
write  of  Beatrice,  such  things  as  had  never  been  written  of  any  other 
woman.  When  he  had  passed  through  the  dolorous  region  of  hell, 
and  had  climbed  the  steep  and  bitter  ascent  of  purgatory,  he  came  cut 
at  last  upon  the  top  of  the  mountain,  where  his  guide,  Virgil,  explained 
that  he  cculd  conduct  him  no  farther.  As  Virgil  vanished,  he  suddenly 
discovered  that  Beatrice  had  come  from  the  celestial  choir  to  be  his 
guide  through  the  Nine  Heavens.  We  cannot  fail  to  observe  the  device 
by  which  Dante  was  enabled  to  make  his  wonderfully  poetic  picture  of 
the  heavenly  world  was  the  employment  of  the  features  of  an  earthly 
human  being  whose  existence  and  whose  memory  he  had  worshiped, 
but  who  was,  none  the  less,  only  a  human  being;  nay,  far  more  inter- 
esting than  an  angel,  because  she  was  human.  We  have  somehow  for- 
gotten that  the  glory  of  God  is  revealed  through  His  works,  and  that 
the  chief  work  of  God  is  the  human  soul.  Nor  need  we  forget  that 
precious  casket  of  the  soul,  the  human  countenance,  through  which  the 
soul  is  revealed.     Wordsworth  long  ago  taught  us  that 

"Trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 

From   God,  who   is   our   home.    .     .     . 

The   youth,   who    daily  farther  from  the  East 

Must   travel,   still  is  nature's  priest, 

And   by   the   vision   splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended." 


GRADUATION  DAY  119 

Only  in  the  full-grown  man  does  it  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 
But  this  need  not  be,  and  is  not,  when  right  conditions  prevail.  When 
right  ideals  are  always  held  before  the  mind,  we  ought  to  pass  from 
youth  to  manhood  by  an  everchanging  progress  "from  glory  to  glory." 

In  truth,  this  is  the  very  principle  for  which  all  educational  reform- 
ers have  striven.  Every  one  of  them  was  started  en  his  career  by  no 
less  a  purpose  than  the  redemption  and  the  glorification  of  human  life 
through  the  influence  of  education.  They  desired  to  prevent  the  de- 
generation of  humanity  by  leading  it  steadily  forward,  instead  of  allow- 
ing the  pristine  glory  of  childhood  to  decay.  Perhaps,  after  all,  these 
young  people  builded  better  than  they  knew.  Our  astonishment  at 
their  success  is  owing  to  false  standards  in  estimating  educational  pro- 
gress. Ask  the  first  hundred  men  who  pass  along  this  pavement,  or 
along  any  other  pavement  in  America — ask  them  their  definition  of 
education,  and  ninety-nine  cf  them  will  tell  you  that  education  is  knowl- 
edge, or  learning.  Whereas,  not  one  of  the  great  educational  reform- 
ers will  agree  to  such  a  definition.  On  the  contrary,  it  has  been  the 
effort  of  their  lives  to  uproot  that  idea.  Learning  is  not  necessarily 
education.  Locke  maintained  that  the  first  element  in  education  was 
the  inculcation  of  virtue;  without  this,  knowledge  is  only  a  curse.  His 
second  element  was  the  inculcation  of  wisdom,  which  is  the  capacity 
of  knowing  how  to  use  knowledge.  The  third  element,  in  order  of 
importance,  was  conduct,  by  which  we  are  to  understand,  not  simply 
manners,  but  rather  the  meaning  which  Matthew  Arnold  has  given  us 
under  the  head  of  conduct,  which  includes  all  our  relations  to  indi- 
viduals and  to  society.  The  foregoing,  according  to  Locke,  are  the 
essential  elements  in  education,  while  learning  would  be  given  rank 
only  as  fourth  in  importance.  Froebel  did  not  reverse  this  order,  but 
spent  even  more  time  in  developing  the  earlier  stages  of  the  childhood, 
even  before  Locke's  steps  could  begin.  Pestalozzi  carried  the  same 
idea  even  further.  First  of  all,  he  demanded  that  we  should  put  the 
child  in  possession  of  his  faculties.  By  these  he  meant,  first,  his  physi- 
cal faculties,  without  which  nothing  further  could  be  attained;  and 
second,  those  of  his  mind  and  heart,  in  much  the  same  order  as  Locke. 

Herbart  agreed,  in  the  main,  with  these  principles,  but  elaborated 
them  much  further,  especially  providing  for  their  more  systematic  ap- 
plication to  the  entire  community.  Locke's  mistake  had  been  in  limit- 
ing his  ideal  to  the  education  of  a  single  person,  some  prince  or  favorite 
of  fortune.  Herbart  brought  us  to  right  methods  by  democratizing 
education;  and  also  added  that  most  important  of  all  modern  ideas,  the 
aesthetic  presentation  of  the  universe,  not  as  a  dull  fact  of  mere  knowl- 
edge, but  knowledge  as  related  to  art,  and  to  beauty. 

This  is  because  all  art  is  representative.  There  is  no  such  thing 
as  art  in  the  abstract.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  beauty  in  the  abstract. 
This  explains  why  there  is  so  much  vague  and  indefinite  vaporing 
about  beauty  among  writers  on  aesthetics.  All  beauty  is  concrete,  the 
beauty  of  some  particular  object,  or  some  particular  person.  All  art  is 
representative.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  this  is  true  in  music.  It  is  also 
plain  in  painting;  there  the  picture  stands;  it  has  nothing  to  do  but  to 
represent  its  original.  The  same  is  true,  though  a  little  less  apparently, 
in  sculpture  and  in  architecture.     In  poetry  it  is  much  more  difficult 


120  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

to  observe.  Not  many  would  be  able  to  prove  it.  In  oratory  it  is 
equally  essential,  and  it  is  equally  easy  to  recognize  the  truth  of  the 
statement.  Here,  however,  it  becomes  necessary  to  ask,  If  art  is 
representative,  what  does  it  represent?  The  answer  is,  Life;  it  repre- 
sents life,  and  nothing  else.  It  is  our  business  to  produce  the  picture, 
be  it  painted  by  whatsoever  art  it  may.  We  cannot  produce  life,  but 
we  can  direct  and  mold  it.  All  progress  is  a  growth,  through  this 
direction  and  unfolding  of  existing  life.  But  I  call  you  to  observe  that 
the  process  requires  a  highly  specialized  kind  of  knowledge, — delicate, 
ethereal,  spiritual.  So  does  all  modern  education.  The  graduate  of 
the  great  college  of  our  day  differs  from  his  fellows  almost  as  much 
as  might  the  graduates  of  a  hundred  different  colleges  in  the  olden 
time.  Each  man  possesses  the  highly  specialized  education  of  his  own 
group  of  studies,  though  he  must  remain  ignorant  of  many  other 
things.  Only  in  this  way  can  he  hope  to  make  an  impression.  The 
day  of  the  all-around  man  has  gone  by. 

I,  therefore,  call  on  you  to  notice  that  this  definition  of  education 
does  not  imply  a  neglect  of  knowledge.  Let  no  man  dream  that  we 
despise  or  neglect  the  office  of  knowledge.  Learning  and  knowledge 
have  full  recognition,  only  it  is  the  highly  specialized  knowledge  of 
which  I  have  been  speaking,  the  kind  of  knowledge  which  you  can 
obtain  nowhere  else.  The  methods  and  teaching  by  which  it  is  imparted 
are  the  most  difficult  teaching  in  the  world;  but  they  are  also  the  most 
effective.  As  Henry  Ward  Beecher  once  said,  the  projector  of  this 
kind  of  influence  has  a  difficult  task  to  perform;  but  his  forces  once 
set  to  work,  he  has  only  to  sit  on  the  shore  and  see  the  waves  come 
in.  The  self-propelling  power  of  natural  law  is  behind  them,  and 
nothing  can  limit  the  movement  of  such  a  force.  We  all  recognize 
this  for  ourselves  and  rejoice  in  it.  Then  there  is  another  result  still 
more  marvelous.  We  find  that  these  young  people  can  go  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth  and  reproduce  the  same  spirit.  The  welcome  which  they 
meet  shows  that  the  people  need  the  contagion  of  their  courage  and 
their  sympathy.  And  much  more  do  they  need  it  than  they  are  aware. 
You  shall  find  them  as  Browning  says  David  found  Saul: 

"He  relaxed  not  a  muscle,  but  hung  there  as,  caught  in  his  pangs 

And  awaiting  his  change,  the  king  serpent   all  heavily   hangs, 

Far  away  from  his  kind,  in  the  pine,  till  deliverance  come 

With  the  springtime — so  agonized  Saul,  drear  and  stark,  blind  and  dumb." 

Moreover,  you  shall  find  that  for  some  reason,  best  known  to  Him- 
self, God  has  conditioned  the  redemption  of  all  such  souls,  and  of  all 
others,  so  that  they  must  depend  on  the  interposition  of  a  human  per- 
sonality, a  living  representative.  He  might  have  sent  angels,  but  He 
did  not.  He  sends  His  messages  through  human  beings.  Like  Dante, 
we  are  guided,  even  through  the  heavens,  by  human  love  and  human 
sympathy.  Like  David,  we  are  permitted  to  cry  out,  at  last,  to  every 
perishing  Saul: 

"O  Saul,  it  shall  be 
A  Face  like  my  face  that  receives  thee;  a  Man  like  to  me 
Thou  shalt  love  and  be  loved  by,  forever;  a  Hand  like  this  hand 
Shall  throw  open  the  gates  of  new  life  to  thee!    See  the  Christ  stand!" 


GRADUATION  DAY  121 

JLET  YOUR  COMPETITORS  SMOKE." 

(Graduation  Day  Address.) 


David  Starr  Jordan, 

(President  Leland  Stanford,  Jr.,  University.) 


A  HARVARD  professor  said  to  me  the  other  day,  "The  best  advice 
I  can  give  to  my  graduates  is:  'Let  your  competitors  smoke.'" 
In  other  words,  if  somebody  must  go  through  life  carrying  a 
handicap,  let  it  be  some  other  fellow.  The  professor  went  on  to  say 
that  he  did  not  consider  the  matter  primarily  from  the  point  of  view 
of  hygiene  or  of  good  example,  but  from  that  of  saving  of  time.  The 
man  who  succeeds  is  the  man  who  knows  how  to  use  time.  Life  is 
a  bit  short  at  the  best,  and  it  seems  much  shorter  when  you  get  on 
into  the  middle  of  it.  Its  effectiveness  is  measured  in  part  by  its 
length.  Its  length  is  measured  not  by  years,  but  by  that  part  of  it 
which  we  use.  We  use  only  that  part  we  spend  in  sleep,  in  training, 
in  play,  in  effective  helpfulness.  Smoking  does  not  come  under  any  of 
these  heads.  Smoking  is  our  disguise  for  idleness.  When  a  man 
smokes,  says  the  professor  I  have  quoted,  he  does  not  realize  that  he 
is  idle.  He  is  putting  in  the  time,  the  time  that  he  might  otherwise 
use  in  some  one  of  the  normal  purposes  of  life.  Daudet  tells  us  of 
certain  clubmen  who  meet  and  think  not,  neither  do  they  speak — just 
smoke.  One  lesson  of  the  college  life  is  the  value  of  training  rules. 
If  a  man  is  to  do  his  part  in  a  game  or  a  meet  he  must  have  every 
nerve  free  from  prejudice.  The  effect  of  tobacco  is  to  trick  the  nerves. 
It  is  a  nerve  irritant,  and  wears  the  disguise  of  a  narcotic.  But  a  nar- 
cotic is  likewise  dangerous.  We  ought  not  to  be  sleepy  when  awake. 
We  have  the  right  to  sleep  when  we  have  earned  it,  by  nerve  exercise 
which  demands  nerve  rest.  To  break  the  training  rules  is  to  lose  the 
game,  when  the  game  demands  accuracy  of  sensation  and  motion, 
absolute  truthfulness  of  nerve  response. 

But  the  essential  purpose  of  going  to  college  is  to  prepare  one- 
self for  the  higher  games,  for  the  fine  play  in  the  noblest  and  most 
difficult  of  all  meets,  the  fine  art  of  living.  In  this  game,  one  has  need 
of  all  mental  subtlety,  of  all  virile  reserves.  Every  day  the  test  is 
closer  than  in  any  athletic  game.  Every  day,  more  depends  on  one's 
being  in  perfect  trim.  Every  man,  sooner  or  later,  at  some  time  in 
his  life,  is  brought  under  training  rules.  If  he  is  not,  he  is  forced  out 
of  the  business.  Most  usually  these  come  too  late.  Every  enforced 
lie  of  the  nervous  system  makes  it  harder  for  it  to  tell  the  truth  after- 
ward. Every  strain  in  accuracy  of  nerve  response  makes  the  mind 
flabby.  There  is  an  ancient  rule  of  health  which  runs  in  this  fashion: 
"Rise  early,  before  you  are  twenty-five,  if  possible."  This  rule  I  com- 
mend to  you.  That  you  have  observed  it  already  is  plain  enough.  If. 
you  were  not  early  risers  you  would  not  be  here  to-day.  If  you  had 
not  already  mastered  some  of  these  precepts,  we  should  not  send  you 
forth  with  the  confidence  that  to-day  we  are  showing.  But  there  are 
maxims  within  maxims.  The  secret  of  early  rising  is  the  saving  of 
time.  To  rise  at  twenty-five,  the  thing  to  do  is  to  be  already  thirty 
years  old.     Not  thirty  years  old  in  waste  and  disillusion,  like  some 


122  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

old  young  men  we  know,  but  thirty  years  old  through  the  saving  of 
time  from  idleness  for  thought  and  will  and  achievement.  And  in  this 
the  waste  of  smoke  is  only  one  of  many  kinds  of  waste,  and  the  great- 
est waste  of  all  is  the  waste  of  time.  The  great  achievements  of  men 
have  been  for  the  most  part  in  the  intervals  of  a  busy  life.  It  is  an 
old  saying,  that  when  you  want  anything  done  you  must  get  a  busy 
man  to  do  it.  The  man  of  leisure  cannot  bring  his  power  together. 
He  may  have  his  horses,  but  his  hands  are  not  on  the  reins.  The  years 
of  life  are  threescore  and  ten,  and  we  cut  off  twenty  at  one  end  for 
training,  and  nature  cuts  off  what  she  pleases  at  the  other.  But  any 
man  can  make  the  other  forty  as  long  as  he  pleases.  He  can  at  least 
get  twice  as  much  time  out  of  them  as  the  average  man  does,  and 
effectiveness  in  life  is  proportioned  to  the  square  of  the  time  saved. 
In  any  event,  momentum  is  proportioned  to  the  square  of  the  velocity. 
The  velocity  is  measured  by  the  ground  you  get  over,  by  the  time 
you  save  from  idleness  for  life.  What  is  lost  in  waste  must  be  deducted 
from  our  savings.  The  man  who  is  thirty  years  old  at  twenty  in. 
dissipation  and  disillusionment,  can  count  his  living  age  at  only  ten. 
He  counts  ten  years  of  life  and  ten  of  death,  with  ten  years  of  child- 
hood to  begin  with. 

"The  gods  for  labor  give  us  all  good  things."  This  was  part  of 
the  philosophy  of  the  ancient  Greeks.  They  learned  it  as  a  fact  of 
experience  long  before  it  was  first  put  into  words.  Over  and  over 
again  each  generation  of  men  tries  its  own  experiment  and  comes 
back  to  the  same  unvarying  conclusion.  Moreover,  we  find  that  these 
same  gods  never  give  us  anything  worth  having  for  any  other  price. 
They  make  loans  sometimes,  but  theirs  is  a  high  rate  of  interest.  They 
do  not  forget  the  contract.  "By  their  long  memories  the  gods  are 
known."  By  the  gods  the  Greeks  meant  the  forces  that  lie  all  about  us, 
the  forces  that  condition  our  life.  These  are  our  realities.  The  rest  is 
dead  matter.  Our  knowledge  comes  from  contact  with  these  ways 
and  forces,  our  power  depends  on  acting  in  accord  with  this  knowledge. 
In  this  lies  all  human  possibility.  He  who  knows  the  truth  can  trust 
all  and  fear  nothing.  He  who  strikes  as  the  gods  strike  has  the  force 
of  the  gods  in  his  blows.     He  who  defies  them  wields  a  club  of  air. 

It  has  been  a  part  of  your  college  training  to  learn  something  of 
the  laws  and  forces  that  limit  life.  To  know  where  you  are  and  what 
you  can  do,  is  the  first  element  in  the  saving  of  time.  You  can  rise 
early  when  the  time  comes  for  action.  You  will  hear  men  say,  "The 
rich  man  must  know  how  the  poor  man  lives,"  else  humanity  cannot 
keep  together.  But  you  are  poor  in  gold,  I  -hope,  though  rich  in  the 
better  commodities  of  will  and  hope.  So  let  us  say,  "The  poor  man 
must  know  how  the  rich  man  works,"  not  the  rich  men  who  have  in- 
herited land  and  bonds,  and  who  do  not  know  how  to  use  them  because 
they  have  not  created  them.  You  must  know  how  the  strong  man 
works;  and,  if  you  would  be  strong,  you  must  struggle  even  as  he  does, 
and,  if  may  be,  with  loftier  ideals  and  more  genuine  aspirations.  Your 
place  will  be  among  the  working  men  and  women. 

Each  of  you  has  powers  and  potentialities  of  his  own,  this  for  one, 
that  for  another.  To  make  the  best  of  what  is  in  us,  this  is  success  in 
life.     But  our  duty  is  only  relative.     It  goes  with  the  fact  of  time; 


GRADUATION  DAY  123 

With  time  enough,  any  of  us  could  do  anything.  With  this  great  multi- 
plier, it  matters  little  what  the  other  factor  is.  Any  man  could  be  all 
men  if  he  had  time  enough.  With  eternity  man  becomes  as  the  gods. 
But  we  are  not  in  business  for  eternity.  Our  days  are  few,  however 
much  we  may  stretch  them;  and,  no  doubt,  as  the  humorist  reminds  us, 
"We  shall  be  a  long  time  dead,"  so  every  hour  we  waste  carries  away 
its  toll  from  our  life,  as  the  dropping  water  carries  away  the  rock. 
Every  lost  day  takes  away  a  bit,  or  a  cubit  from  our  stature.  And  so 
we  come  back  to  our  first  word  again.  Let  us  be  alert,  as  becomes  the 
men  of  the  time.  Let  us  rise  early.  Let  us  make  some  mark  in  the 
world  before  we  are  twenty-five,  if  possible.  And,  above  all,  "Let  your 
competitors  smoke!" 


DIFFERENCE    BETWEEN    COLLEGE   AND 
UNIVERSITY. 

(Graduation  Day  Address.) 


Seth  Low, 
(Former  Mayor  of  New  York,  Former  President  of  Columbia  University.) 


THE  American  college,  in  its  beginnings,  was  simply  an  English 
college  transplanted  to  American  soil.  Like  everything  English 
so  transplanted,  it  has  been  modified  in  its  development  and  has 
taken  on  characteristics  peculiar  to  itself.  It  has  awakened  in  many 
men  a  desire  for  scholarship;  but  this  desire  they  have  had  to  satisfy 
elsewhere,  not  because  the  American  college  has  not  satisfied  it  to  the 
extent  of  its  ability,  but  because  the  American  college,  as  such,  did  not 
possess  the  facilities  for  training  scholars  in  the  technical  sense  of  that . 
word.  In  the  two  decades  from  1850  to  1870  the  college-bred  men  of 
America,  desiring  to  become  scholars,  began  to  go  abroad  for  study 
in  considerable  numbers,  and  especially  to  the  German  universities. 
These  men  found  in  Germany  a  system  capable  of  making  scholars,  and 
offering  facilities  for  scholarship  of  which  they  had  never  dreamed. 
Returning  to  this  country  in  larger  and  larger  numbers,  with  this 
knowledge  and  with  this  inspiration,  such  men  became  centers  of  agi- 
tation for  the  development  in  this  country  of  facilities  for  educating 
scholars  that  should  be  comparable  with  those  found  in  Germany.  The 
German  system  was  taken  as  the  type  by  these  men,  partly  because 
German  hospitality  to  them  as  foreigners  had  given  to  them  these 
great  privileges,  but  principally  because  neither  the  English  university 
nor  the  French  university  by  any  modification  could  be  adapted  to 
American  needs. 

This  discussion  will  have  prepared  you  for  the  definition  I  am  to 
give  of  an  American  university,  as  distinguished  from  an  American  col- 
lege. The  aim  of  the  American  college  is  to  give  a  liberal  education, 
or,  if  you  please,  to  develop  the  man.  The  aim  of  the  American  uni- 
versity, on  the  other  hand,  is  to  make  a  specialist — it  may  be  in  one 
of  the  professions,  or  as  a  historian,  an  author,  or  a  man  of  science. 
Theoretically  and  ideally,  the  university  ought  to  be  founded  on  the 
college,  because  a  man  ought  to  be  broadened  before  he  begins  to  spe- 
cialize, but  practically  this  is  not  a  necessity  of  the  situation,  however 


124  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

desirable  it  may  be.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  said  that,  wherever 
the  aim  of  training  specialists  is  distinctly  recognized,  an  institution 
that  unites  with  this  aim  the  conduct  of  a  college  is  still  properly  called 
a  university,  for  the  name  university  is  evidently  a  name  of  wide  com- 
prehensiveness. It  cannot  be  denied,  however,  that  the  small  American 
college  (by  which  I  mean  a  college  unconnected  with  a  large  univer- 
sity) is  obliged  to  find  a  place  for  itself  to-day  under  conditions  widely 
different  from  those  which  have  existed  heretofore.  The  high  schools 
have  been  carried  up  in  their  work  and  the  universities  have  been  car- 
ried down,  so  that  the  colleges  no  longer  have  a  well-defined  and  un- 
challenged field  which  is  theirs  alone.  The  great  majority  of  students 
leave  school  at  the  end  of  the  grammar  grades;  another  large  number 
at  the  end  of  the  high  school  grade;  still  another  large  number  cease 
their  studies  at  the  end  of  the  college;  and  it  is,  after  all,  only  a  few 
out  of  the  great  number  of  those  who  go  to  school  who  are  privileged 
to  continue  their  studies  until  they  have  taken  an  acknowledged  posi- 
tion as  both  broadly-trained  men  and  recognized  specialists.  It  is  in- 
evitable, therefore,  and  not  undesirable,  that  the  high  schools  should 
carry  some  students  beyond  the  point  where  they  formerly  went  to 
college;  and  it  is  also  natural,  and  not  undesirable,  that  colleges  should, 
where  they  can,  carry  students  beyond  the  point  where  they  may  fairly 
be  considered  to  be  liberally-educated  men,  and  therefore  ready  to  spe- 
cialize to  the  best  advantage.  For  both  the  high  school  and  the  col- 
lege, by  so  doing,  will  give  to  many  men,  who  cannot  go  further  in 
their  studies,  a  better  education  than  they  otherwise  would  get. 

America  needs  broadly-trained  men  as  much  as  it  ever  needed 
them;  and  the  age  in  which  that  liberal  training  ought  to  be  obtained 
is  from  sixteen  to  twenty,  or  from  seventeen  to  twenty-one,  just  as 
it  used  to  be.  Small  colleges  cannot  hope  to  compete  with  the  uni- 
versities in  the  matter  of  training  specialists,  and  they  will  do  injus- 
tice to  their  students,  who  propose  to  specialize,  if  they  try  to.  If 
each  college  will  formulate  for  itself,  with  definiteness,  its  proper  aim, 
the  means  for  carrying  out  that  aim  will  be  clear  enough.  In  point  of 
view  of  breadth  of  opportunity,  a  small  college  can  never  compete  with 
a  college  which  is  part  of  a  university;  but,  in  point  of  view  of  quality 
of  work  within  its  own  range,  the  small  college  can  challenge  without 
fear  the  competition  of  the  large  ones  and  of  colleges  connected  with 
universities.  A  denominational  university  is  a  contradiction  in  terms; 
unless  the  only  direction  in  which  it  aims  to  specialize  is  in  preparation 
for  the  ministry.  But,  for  the  training  of  men  and  for  the  develop- 
ment of  character,  the  American  people  must  change  importantly  be- 
fore the  denominational  college  will  have  lost  its  place.  Such  a  col- 
lege will  be  valuable,  perhaps  one  should  say,  not  so  much  because  of 
the  merits  of  the  denomination  that  controls  it,  as  because  loftiness  of 
ideal,  earnestness  of  purpose,  and  the  qualities  of  character  that  spring 
from  the  religious  impulse  are  factors  in  the  education  of  men  which 
are  in  no  danger  of  losing  their  power. 

As  I  have  already  said,  the  aim  of  the  college  is  to  give  a  liberal 
education,  the  aim  of  the  university  is  to  train  specialists.  This  recog- 
nized difference  in  aim  between  the  college  and  the  university  applies 
as  clearly  to  the  non-professional  as  to  the  professional  work,  and 


GRADUATION  DAY  125 

leads  inevitably  to  a  difference  of  attitude  towards  the  student  in  the 
college  and  in  the  various  university  schools.  In  some  of  the  univer- 
sity schools  the  entire  course  is  required;  in  others  it  is  wholly  elective; 
and  in  yet  others  required  and  elective  work  may  be  taken  in  different 
proportions.  In  other  words,  the  aim  in  each  school  being  distinctly 
recognized,  whatever  curriculum  appears  best  suited  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  that  aim  is  adopted  without  regard  to  any  other  consideration. 

TRAINING  FOR  THE  NAVY. 

(Address  to  Annapolis  Naval  Graduates.) 


Theodore  Roosevelt, 

(Former    President    of    the    United    States.) 


IN  receiving  these  diplomas  you  become  men  who  above  almost  any 
others  of  the  entire  Union  are  to  carry  henceforth  the  ever-present 
sense  of  responsibility  which  must  come  with  the  knowledge  that 
on  some  tremendous  day  it  may  depend  on  your  courage,  your  pre- 
paredness, your  keen  intelligence  and  knowledge  of  your  profession, 
whether  or  not  the  nation  is  again  to  write  her  name  on  the  world's  roll 
of  honor,  or  to  know  the  black  shame  of  defeat.  We  all  of  us  earnestly 
hope  that  the  occasion  for  war  may  never  come;  but  if  it  has  to  come, 
then  this  nation  must  win;  and  the  prime  factor  in  securing  victory 
over  any  foreign  foe  must  of  necessity  be  the  United  States  navy.  If 
the  navy  fails  us,  then  we  are  doomed  to  defeat,  no  matter  what  may 
be  cur  material  wealth  or  the  high  average  of  our  citizenship.  It 
should,  therefore,  be  an  object  of  prime  importance  for  every  patriotic 
American  to  see  that  the  navy  is  constantly  built  up,  and,  above  all, 
that  it  is  kept  to  the  highest  point  of  efficiency,  both  in  material  and 
in  personnel.  It  cannot  be  too  often  repeated  that  in  modern  war,  and 
especially  in  modern  naval  war,  the  chief  factor  in  achieving  triumph 
is  what  has  been  done  in  the  way  of  thorough  preparation  and  train- 
ing before  the  beginning  of  the  war.  It  is  what  has  been  done  before 
the  outbreak  of  war  that  is  all-important.  After  the  outbreak,  all  that 
can  be  done  is  to  use  to  the  best  advantage  the  great  war  engines,  and 
the  seamanship,  marksmanship,  and  general  practical  efficiency,  which 
have  already  been  provided  by  the  forethought  of  the  National  Legis- 
lature and  by  the  administrative  ability,  through  a  course  of  years,  of 
the  Navy  Department.  A  battleship  cannot  be  improvised.  It  takes 
years  to  build,  and  the  skill  cf  the  officers  and  crew  in  handling  it  aright 
can  likewise  never  be  improvised,  but  must  spring  from  use  and  actual 
sea-service  and  from  the  most  careful,  zealous,  and  systematic  train- 
ing. Some  of  you  will  have  to  do  your  part  in  helping  construct  the 
ships  and  the  guns  which  you  use.  Ycu  need  to  bend  every  energy 
toward  making  these  ships  and  guns  in  all  their  details  the  most  perfect 
of  their  kind  throughout  the  world.  The  ship  must  be  seaworthy,  the 
armament  fitted  for  the  best  protection  to  guns  and  men,  the  guns  in 
all  their  mechanism  fit  to  do  the  greatest  possible  execution  in  the 
shortest  possible  time.  Every  detail,  whether  of  protection  to  the  gun 
crews,  of  raoidity  and  sureness  in  handling  the  ammunition  and  work- 
ing the  elevating  and  revolving  gear,  or  of  quickness  and  accuracy  in 


126  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

sighting,  must  be  thought  out  far  in  advance,  and  the  thought  carefully 
executed  in  the  actual  work.  The  best  ships  and  guns  and  the  most 
costly  mechanism  are  utterly  valueless  if  the  men  are  not  trained  to 
use  them  to  the  utmost  possible  advantage.  From  now  on  throughout 
your  lives  there  can  be  no  slackness  on  your  part.  Your  duty  must 
be  present  with  you,  waking  and  sleeping.  You  have  got  to  train  your- 
selves, and  you  have  got  to  train  those  under  you  in  the  actual  work 
of  seamanship,  in  the  actual  work  of  gunnery.  If  the  day  for  battle 
comes  you  will  need  all  that  you  possess  of  boldness,  skill,  determina- 
tion, ability  to  bear  punishment,  and  instant  readiness  in  an  emergency. 
But  though  without  these  qualities  you  can  do  nothing,  yet  even  with 
them  you  can  do  but  little  if  you  have  not  had  the  forethought  and  set 
purpose  to  train  yourselves  and  the  enlisted  men  under  you  aright. 
Officers  and  men  alike  must  have  the  sea-habit;  officers  and  men  alike 
must  realize  that  in  battle  the  only  shots  that  count  are  the  shots  that 
hit,  and  that  normally  the  victory  will  lie  with  the  side  whose  shots 
hit  oftenest.  Seamanship  and  marksmanship — these  must  be  the  two 
prime  objects  of  your  training,  both  for  yourselves  and  for  the  men 
under  you.  You,  to  whom  I  give  these  diplomas,  now  join  the  ranks 
of  the  officers  of  the  United  States  navy.  You  enter  a  glorious  service, 
proud  of  its  memories  of  renown.  You  must  keep  ever  in  your  minds 
the  thought  of  the  supreme  hour  which  may  come  when  what  you  do 
will  forever  add  to  or  detract  from  this  renown. 


LESSONS  OF  SCHOOL  LIFE. 

(Graduation  Day  Address.) 


Edith  Putnam  Painton. 


THERE  is  no  period  of  life  fraught  with  more  dangers  or  tempta- 
tions than  school-days,  for  it  is  then  that  you  are  in  the  formative 
stage  of  your  existence,  and  the  habits  you  then  form  and  the 
character  you  then  build  will  stay  all  through  your  life.  It  is  not  only 
the  "readin',  'ritin',  and  'rithmetic"  that  you  are  learning  in  the  daily, 
routine  of  your  studies.  In  a  very  few  years,  you  may  forget  the  very 
first  principle  of  the  conjugation  of  a  verb,  but  you  will  not,  by  any 
means,  forget  the  good  or  evil  tendencies  that  are  gradually  developing 
in  your  heart  during  these  years  of  your  life-preparation.  How  many 
of  you  remember  the  first  time  you  ever  whispered  in  school,  contrary 
to  the  teacher's  orders?  You  felt  guilty  for  a  long  time,  didn't  you, 
and  dreaded  to  have  the  teacher's  eye  turned  in  your  direction?  But 
you  didn't  get  "caught,"  and  the  second  time  you  found  it  so  much 
easier;  the  third  time  you  didn't  think  much  about  it,  and  it  was  not 
long  till  conscience  kept  still  and  allowed  you  to  disobey  that  rule  at 
pleasure,  without  a  single  reminder.  You  did  not  know  then  what  it 
meant — it  did  not  seem  a  very  glaring  sin,  did  it?  But,  boys,  girls,  it 
is  upon  just  such  little  misdeeds,  as  this  seemed  to  be,  that  our  whole 
character  is  based.  Did  you  ever  think  of  that?  You  will  remember, 
too,  the  first  time  you  ever  passed  the  work  of  another  as  your  own. 
You  were  almost  sure  your  answer  was  the  correct  one,  but,  to  be 
doubly  sure,  you  peeped  slyly  into  your  book,  or  upon  the  paper  of 


GRADUATION  DAY  127 

your  neighbor.  It  was  easy  then  to  correct  the  one  word  or  figure  that 
marred  the  accuracy  of  your  own  exercise;  but,  ah!  there  was  a  blem- 
ish made  on  your  character  by  the  same  act  and  one  not  so  easily  cor- 
rected. That  was  the  first  scratch  on  your  sense  of  honor,  the  first 
lesson  in  deceit;  and,  years  afterward,  the  same  prompting  will  come 
to  you  in  some  form  or  another,  when  you  have  long  since  forgotten 
the  exact  date  of  the  battle  of  Antietam.  My  young  friend,  that  was 
a  more  important  and  decisive  battle  in  your  life  than  the  battle  of 
Antietam,  and  you  were  the  vanquished! 

Possibly  you  are  an  idler  in  school.  You  may  learn  more  easily 
than  your  classmates,  and  have,  after  your  lesson  is  prepared,  too  much 
of  that  spare  time  that  Satan  so  often  contrives  to  fill;  or,  it  may  even 
be — though  I  do  not  like  to  think  it, — that  you  idle  away  time  which 
you  should  be  devoting  to  study.  This  is  a  little  thing,  isn't  it,  not 
worth  mentioning?  But  do  not  forget  that  you  are  forming  a  habit, 
and  one  that  you  will  not  find  it  easy  to  break.  There  are  no  heights 
worth  attaining  that  can  be  reached  without  close  application;  and  how 
can  he,  who  has  not  formed  the  habit  of  application,  hope  to  succeed? 
I  wonder  if  you  realize  how  important  a  part  the  companions  and  asso- 
ciates of  your  school-days  will  play  in  your  after  life.  It  is  so  easy  to 
fall  into  ways  of  those  you  are  constantly  with;  and,  if  they  are  not 
good  ways,  you  are  the  sufferer.  One  person,  who  is  saucy,  rude,  im- 
pudent, or  vulgar  in  speech  or  manner,  may  contaminate  a  whole 
crowd  in  amazingly  short  time.  How  much  more  easily  do  we  gather 
and  assimilate  evil  than  good!  On  the  other  hand,  one  person,  taking 
a  decided  stand  for  the  right,  will  do  much  toward  leading  others  to 
follow,  for  nine  persons  are  always  willing  to  be  led,  either  right  or 
wrong,  by  the  stronger  will  of  the  tenth  person.  Try  it,  boys  and 
girls,  and  see  if  I  am  not  right. 

Then  there  is  the  strife  for  class-distinction  and  the  highest  mark- 
ing. Don't  think  I  condemn  it,  for  strife,  if  legitimate,  is  a  sure  road 
to  success;  but  how  many  a  temptation  to  dishonesty  presents  itself  in 
rivalry  of  this  kind,  and  how  seldom  are  all  making  a  free  and  open 
fight!  Better,  by  far,  to  stand  at  foot  of  the  class  all  your  life  than 
to  advance  one  step,  except  honorably  and  creditably;  and  the  petty 
jealousies  originating  in  the  school-room  may  develop  into  master- 
passions  in  the  battle  of  life  opening  before  you. 

Few  of  you  seem  to  realize  what  interest  your  teachers  have  in 
every  one  of  you;  how  pained  they  are  by  lack  of  interest  or  by  dis- 
obedience; how  proud  of  your  advancement  and  good  deportment. 
They  recognize,  what  you  do  not,  that  these,  your  happiest  days,  are 
also  the  most  important  ones,  for  they  are  the  foundation-stones  upon 
which  the  future  is  builded.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  this  clearly. 
Why,  I've  forgotten  nearly  everything  I  learned  in  my  school-books; 
but  I've  not  outgrown  one  of  the  habits  then  formed.  Day  by  day 
some  trait  becomes  manifest  that  causes  my  mind  to  go  back  to  the 
old  brick  school-house  far  away,  and  I  think  how  much  depended  on 
my  living  those  days  well.  Do  not  think,  that  because  you  cannot  see 
the  practicability  of  algebraic  demonstrations  that  they  are  worthless. 
They  are  really  mental  gymnasiums  where  your  mind  wrestles  and 
gains  power  to  cope  with  the  weightier  and  all-important  problems 


128  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

that  will  confront  you  in  "life's  school."  One  of  my  teachers  used  to 
say,  "Going  to  school  is  a  business — an  intense  business,  and  must  be 
conducted  along  business  lines."  If  you  remember  this,  you  will  be  all 
the  more  conscientious  in  performing  every  day's  duties,  and  will  build 
such  characters  that  you  may  look  back  to  your  school-days  with  pride 
and  satisfaction. 


ELOCUTION. 

(Address  to  Business  College  Graduates.) 


Henry  Codman  Potter, 

(Late  Bishop  Protestant  Episcopal  Church.) 


M 


R.  PRESIDENT,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  Undergraduates,  and 

those  soon  to  be  graduates  of College:    I  received  from 

your  President  catalogues  of  this  college,  also  a  number  of 
addresses  delivered  on  occasions  similar  to  this.  One  of  the  most  con- 
spicuous was  an  address  on  "Elocution,"  and,  as  I  found  it  at  top  of 
the  bundle,  I  assumed  that  I  was  to  accept  it  for  the  purpose  of  in- 
struction. Now,  the  standard  of  elocution,  as  set  forth  in  the  pam- 
phlet, was  very  high.  I  found  myself  a  moment  ago,  as  I  hope  you 
did  not,  putting  my  hand  into  my  pocket.  The  pamphlet  was  very 
severe  to  gentlemen  who  spoke  to  an  audience  with  hands  in  their 
pockets;  yet,  with  singular  inconsistency,  it  held  up  the  late  Mr.  Horace 
Greeley  as  a  pattern  of  oratory,  and  Mr.  Greeley's  hands  were  not  only 
in  the  pockets  of  his  trousers,  but,  as  I  remember  him,  his  trousers  were 
sometimes  in  the  tops  of  his  boots!  The  fact  is,  the  standards  of 
elocution  are  various  and  variable;  and,  while  I  entirely  agree  with 
your  preceptor,  that  the  first  and  the  last  and  the  middle  note  of  in- 
struction in  connection  with  elocution  should  be  naturalness,  I  think 
it  would  be  difficult  for  any  of  us  to  define  precisely  what  naturalness 
is — how  far  it  is  an  unconscious  expression  of  the  best  culture,  how 
far  we  are  to  understand  by  it  that  often  uncouth  mode  of  expression, 
which  we  confound  with  another,  in  the  sense  that  we  confound  ignor- 
ance with  natural  condition.  You  are  here  to-night  to  take  your  diplo- 
mas, because  education  with  you  stands  for  the  power  of  training  and 
unfolding  the  powers  of  nature  and  adjusting  them  to  the  tasks  of  life. 
Whether  one's  office  in  life  be  to  speak,  or  to  act,  keep  books,  or  to 
command  men,  to  lead  an  army,  or  to  minister  to  the  sick,  I  believe 
that  that  will  be  the  final  definition  of  elocution,  and  its  adequate  and 
appropriate  expression.  In  other  words,  whatever  the  natural  gift  of 
any  one  of  us,  it  is  bound  to  be  better  for  training,  and  the  kind  of 
training  that  qualifies  it  to  translate  itself  to  men. 

There  can  be  no  more  important  sphere  for  education  than  in  con- 
nection with  that  for  which  this  college  stands.  I  remember  a  young 
married  friend  telling  me  that  her  idea  of  keeping  accounts  was  to 
enter  with  great  care  the  money  she  spent  for  pins,  and  then  to  charge 
all  the  rest,  including  house-keeping  wages  and  what  she  spent  for 
bonnets,  under  the  one  head  of  "sundries."  The  power  of  distinction 
is  far  more  rare  even  in  competent  minds  than  one  would  expect — 
the  sense  of  proportion,  recognizing  the  relations   of  things  to   one 


GRADUATION  DAY  129 

another  and  having  what  we  call,  in  the  great  affairs  of  life,  a  due  in- 
tellectual perspective.  One  of  the  advantages  of  the  training  you  re- 
ceive in  a  business  college  is  to  help  you  along  those  lines.  A  set  of 
books  which  includes  a  ledger,  a  day-book,  a  journal,  and  a  cash-book, 
is  an  anachronism  in  one  aspect,  but  it  adjusts  the  large  and  the  little 
in  their  relations  to  one  another,  and  it  enables  the  business  man  to 
discern  the  state  cf  his  affairs  in  their  largest  aspect.  By  this  I  mean 
the  aspect  of  his  own  business  credit — the  obligations  of  his  debtors; 
his  obligations  to  his  creditors  are  within  his  reach  by  turning  to  one 
or  the  other  of  these  volumes — in  a  way  which  any  merely  casual  or 
desultory  mode  of  keeping  records  of  that  character  would  render 
absolutely  impossible. 

Now  then,  what  is  the  principle  that  underlies  that?  It  is  that 
civilization  differentiates  itself  from  barbarism — because  civilization 
stands  for  order.  The  barbaric  state,  whether  it  is  in  the  account-book 
of  the  young  woman  cr  the  savage,  is  the  state  of  chaos.  A  high 
civilization  is  a  condition  in  which  one  has  emancipated  himself  from 
a  bondage  of  ignorance  and  disorder,  and  has  arranged  things  in  their 
adequate  and  proper  relations  to  one  another.  I  venture  to  predict 
that  before  fifty  years  are  over,  no  university  will  be  regarded  as  com- 
plete in  its  curriculum  that  has  not  included  among  its  departments 
with  medicine  and  lav/,  and  the  arts  and  the  higher  sciences,  a  curric- 
ulum for  business  training. 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you  with  what  sympathy  and  interest  I  recog- 
nize to-night  the  fact  that  you  have  completed  your  school  course.  I 
had  the  privilege  of  spending  the  earlier  years  of  my  life  in  a  count- 
ing-room. The  ambition,  born  in  me,  when  I  was  fifteen  years  of 
age,  was  to  be  a  business  man,  and  if  I  had  chosen  my  own  career  and 
had  not  listened  to  a  voice  higher  than  a  human  voice,  I  presume  I 
should  have  been  in  the  counting-room  to-day.  I  remember,  when  I 
went  out  of  it,  that  I  said  to  the  head  of  the  firm  that  I  could  not  but 
regret  that  I  had  lost  the  three  years  spent  in  that  counting-room  from 
a  life  of  study;  and  he  said  to  me — rare  and  far-seeing  man  as  he  was: 
"I  venture  to  think,  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  realize  that  the 
three  years  spent  in  the  counting-roorn  have  had  some  value  in  train- 
ing you  for  life."  I  learned  to  do  so  in  a  very  little  while,  and  I  believe 
every  minister  of  religion  would  be  a  stronger  and  a  wiser  man,  if  he 
had  business  training.  It  would  give  him  a  knowledge  of  men;  and, 
after  all,  a  mcst  potential  element  in  the  service  of  mankind  is  the 
knowledge  cf  those  whom  you  are  to  serve.  It  is  because  in  the  train- 
ing you  have  received  in  this  institution  you  have  brought  your  facul- 
ties to  bear  upon  the  things  that  concern  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life; 
that  concern  its  business  transactions,  its  great  business  rivalries  and 
competitions,  that  when  you  come  to  take  up  the  tasks  of  life,  you  will 
find  yourselves  just  so  much  stronger  and  riper  for  their  discharge. 
Elocution,  which  is  the  power  of  expression,  whether  it  is  the  power  of 
the  voice,  cr  cf  the  hand,  or  of  the  brain,  or  of  the  man  at  the  desk — 
this  is  a  rightful  and  fundamental  part  of  human  training.  A  wise,  a 
competent  power  of  expression,  whether  it  be  in  a  speech,  or  a  sermon, 
or  in  an  account,  whether  in  the  business  world  or  in  any  other,  makes 
service  better  and  makes  work  more  efficient.    I  ask  God  to  bless  you. 


130  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

OPPORTUNITY  TO  BE  SEIZED  BY  FORELOCK. 

(Address  to  Business  College    Graduates.) 

Charles  Bulkley  Hubbell, 

(Former    President  of  the  Board  of  Education  of  New  York  City.) 

MR.  PRESIDENT,  Graduates,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen:  May  I  be 
permitted  to  express  to  you  the  delight  that  I  experience  at 
the  privilege  of  being  here  as  a  representative  of  the  depart- 
ment of  public  education  in  this  city  and  of  greeting  you,  young  men 
and  young  women,  many  of  you  the  products  of  our  public  schools,  as 
you  stand  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  life  that  is  opening  before  you? 
I  could  not  but  think  as  the  first  sounds  of  the  bugle  were  heard  as 
you  entered  this  room  and  approached  us  in  such  impressive  array, 
that,  Behold!  these  are  the  young  soldiers  of  commerce  who  respond 
now  to  the  first  reveille  in  their  commercial  lives  before  they  go  forth 
to  the  battle  in  which  they  are  so  well  equipped  to  win. 

I  have  come  to  assume  to  myself  during  the  years  in  which  I  have 
been  accustomed  to  appear  at  academic  and  scholastic  gatherings  that 
perhaps  I  have  a  certain  right,  not  "by  the  authority  conferred  on  me," 
to  use  the  language  of  the  old  college  diplomas,  but  rather  by  reason 
of  the  deep  sympathy  that  I  feel  for  the  young  men  and  young  women 
who  are  at  each  succeeding  Commencement  season  joining  the  vast 
throngs  of  this  metropolis  that  start  in  the  struggle  in  which  we  are 
all  engaged, — that  I  have  a  right  to  venture  now  and  then  to  give  a 
word  of  advice  and  caution  on  occasions  like  the  one  that  brings  us 
together  to-night.  May  I  then  say  to  you,  young  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
that  from  the  time  of  your  first  employment,  your  success  will  be 
largely  determined  by  the  alertness  and  the  sensitiveness  with  which 
you  recognize  and  greet  the  first  opportunity  that  comes  to  you?  Op- 
portunity sometimes  approaches  with  the  indefinite  lines  of  a  phantom; 
and  yet,  if  you  school  yourselves  by  cultivating  keen  powers  of  ob- 
servation in  that  direction,  and  are  ever  on  the  alert  to  grapple  with  it, 
unsubstantial  and  elusive  though  it  appear,  nevertheless,  if  you  will, 
you  may  mount  and  ride  on  to  certain  fortune  as  surely  as  the  tides  do 
rise.  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  know  that  there  are  some  things 
which  must  be  observed  if  success  is  to  follow  the  efforts  that  are  put 
out  in  professional  or  business  life.  My  personal  experience  among 
business  men,  and  in  my  profession,  has  brought  me  into  constant 
contact  with  the  men  of  commerce  of  this  city;  I  have  found  that  in 
the  employment  of  a  young  man  or  a  young  woman  first  coming  into 
relations  with  an  employer,  that  if  such  are  to  succeed  in  the  hot  com- 
petition into  which  we  all  must  enter,  they  must  give  a  little  more  to 
the  employer  than  they  are  employed  to  give,  for  it  is  that  young  man 
and  that  young  woman  who  moves  upon  those  lines  who  will  soon  find 
that  he  or  she  is  outstripping  those  who  simply  wipe  the  measure  level 
with  the  top  when  the  grain  is  measured  out.  If,  then,  you  are  alert 
and  anxious  to  recognize  your  opportunity  when  it  comes,  if  you  are 
desirous  of  giving  a  little  more  in  the  measure  of  service  concerning 
which  you  contract  than  the  contract  calls  for,  you  have  certainly 
adopted  a  policy  most  necessary  for  the  success  that  I  believe  lies 
before  nearly  all  of  you.     If  you  come  into  relations  with  your  em- 


GRADUATION  DAY  131 

ployer  with  that  sentiment,  you  are  bound  to  succeed.  There  is  no 
obstacle  that  can  keep  you  back;  you  will  develop  qualities  that  neither 
you  ncr  your  friends  have  suspected  in  you,  that  will  carry  you  on  to 
the  goal  of  success,  and  when  under  the  weight  of  responsibility  your 
powers  increase,  you  will,  before  you  realize  it,  have  assumed  the  posi- 
tion that  causes  you  to  be  numbered  among  those  who  are  the  true 
winners  in  the  fight. 

It  has  lcng  been  a  popular  belief  in  the  minds,  I  think,  of  young 
men  more,  perhaps,  than  in  young  women,  that  much  depends  in  your 
lives,  professional  and  business,  on  luck.  The  longer  I  live  the  less  am 
I  disposed  to  concede  much,  if  anything,  to  mere  luck.  Luck  mas- 
querades under  other  names,  and  I  would  say  that  the  man  and  the 
woman  who  succeed  in  life  succeed  in  proportion  as  they  possess  that 
genius  which  consists  of  an  ability  to  recognize  opportunity  when  it 
presents  itself.  It  was  once  said  by  a  distinguished  French  author, 
"Opportunity  wears  her  locks  in  front,  but  has  no  tresses  behind;  then 
seize  her  by  the  forelock,  for,  if  she  eludes  you  once,  not  Jove  himself 
can  ever  catch  on  again."  That  last  line  is  very  liberally  translated, 
but  I  believe  it  carries  the  true  sense  in  this  modern  day,  and  perhaps 
is  quite  as  well  understood  and  as  perfectly  applicable  as  though  a 
more  literal  translation  were  brought  to  bear.  I  have  stated  that  you 
would  develop  qualities  that  were  not  suspected  in  you  before,  until 
the  occasion  has  called  them  forth.  A  story  is  told  of  a  Southern 
darkey  who  came  in  and  told  his  master  of  a  most  astonishing  sight 
that  he  had  seen  a  few  moments  before  in  a  part  of  the  farm  not  far 
from  the  house.  He  said:  "Massa,  I  have  seen  de  stranges'  thing  I 
eva  saw  in  ma  life."  "What  is  that,  Sambo?"  "Why,  I  saw  two  dogs 
chasin'  of  a  rabbit  acrcss  dat  ar  lawn,  and  de  dogs  dey  kep  closin'  in 
on  de  rabbit,  and  d^y  kep  closin'  in,  and  bye  and  bye  they  got  almost 
onto  de  tail,  and,  by  jingo,  de  rabbit  jes'  as  de  dog  v/as  goin'  to  grab 
it,  he  clim'  up  in  a  tree  and  stayed  dar  in  de  branches."  "Why,  Sambo, 
don't  you  know  a  rabbit  cannot  climb  a  tree?"  "Well,  Massa,  he  had 
to  clim'  de  tree  to  git  away  from  de  dogs." 

I  will  not  detain  you  longer,  because  I  know  you  are  impatient  to 
hear  the  man  so  many  of  us  have  known.  There  are  some  among  you 
perhaps  who  have  not  heard  him  before,  and  who  are  very  anxious  to 
hear  him  now.    Therefore,  I  will  close  by  simply  saying  that  when  our 

friend,  President  ,  shall  come  into  the  October  of  his  life — still 

quite  remote,  let  us  hope,  for  no  winter  comes  into  the  lives  of  such 
men  as  he — we  can  rest  assured  that  his  monument  will  be  in  the 
lives  of  thousands  of  men  and  women  whom  he  has  lifted  up  from  the 
level  where  he  found  them  to  one  where  they  are  walking  and  working 
en  higher  planes,  and  when  he  shall  have  passed  to  that  reward  that 
awaits  such  men  as  he,  there  may  be  written — and  I  doubt  not  that 
he  would  prefer  that  his  experience  of  these  years  should  in  some  way 
be  commemorated  there — there  may  be  written  on  the  stone  that  marks 
his  resting-place,  these  words  of  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  with  but  a  slight 
change : 

"Green   wave   the   grass    above   thee, 
Friend  of  our  schoolboy  days; 
None  knew   thee  but   to   love  thee, 
None  named  thee  but  to  praise." 


132  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

THREE  DECIMAL  RULES  OF  LIFE. 

(Address   to   Business    College    Graduates.) 


General  Stewart  L.  Woodford, 

(Former  Lieutenant-Governor   of   State   of   New   York,    United   States   Minister  to 

Spain,  etc.) 


MR.  PRESIDENT  and  Friends:  I  cannot  thank  you  for  this  wel- 
come. My  heart  is  full,  and  I  must  leave  each  one  of  you  to 
think  what  I  would  say — I  cannot  say  it.  I  shall  not  attempt 
to  advise  you,  young  women,  and  you,  young  men.  A  bishop  has  given 
you  his  blessing,  and  the  President  of  the  Board  of  Education  has 
given  you  advice.  You  are  hardly  in  the  humor  to  want  very  much 
advice,  for  each  of  you  knows  that  you  are  going  to  win.  You  feel 
it,  you  believe  it.  With  that  feeling  and  that  belief  go  the  energy 
and  the  power  that  start  you  for  successful  lives.  I  am  going  to  leave 
with  you  to-night  only  three  simple,  business-like,  decimal  rules  of  life. 
It  is  not  enough  to  live  and  get  money;  it  is  not  enough  to  live  and 
accomplish  temporary  success.  If  there  is  no  hereafter,  this  life  is  a 
dead  failure;  if  there  is  a  hereafter,  then  the  thing  for  each  intelligent 
person  to  do  is  to  build  a  character  now  that  will  be  useful  to-day  and 
that  will  be  effective  and  useful  and  happy  in  the  living  in  the  here- 
after. Build  character;  build  character  and  build  it  out  of  integrity, 
truth,  fidelity,  economy;  economy  of  time,  economy  of  labor,  economy 
of  effort,  economy  of  money,  for  more  people  fail  from  carelessness  in 
money  matters  than  from  almost  any  other  one  cause.  The  man  who 
has  an  extra  dollar  has  something  that  works  for  him  while  he  is 
asleep;  the  man  who  owes  a  dollar  has  something  that  works  against 
him  while  he  is  awake.  The  man  who  has  money  controls  the  labor 
and  the  lives  of  other  men,  and  the  man  who  has  not  money  is  con- 
trolled in  his  life  and  in  his  labor  by  other  men. 

I  want  then  to  leave  you  three  decimal  rules  of  life.  First:  Read 
ten  pages  of  something  that  is  worth  reading  every  day;  something 
that  you  can  put  into  your  brains;  something  that  you  can  put  into  your 
memories;  something  that  you  can  put  into  your  lives,  for  ten  pages 
of  real  thought,  read  and  mastered  every  day,  will  make  a  wise  woman 
and  a  wise  man  out  of  each  woman  and  each  man  before  he  or  she  is 
fifty  years  of  age.  Now  do  not  pass  that  as  a  truism.  Lodge  that 
in  your  thoughts.  It  is  not  hard  to  find  time  to  read  ten  good  pages. 
It  is  not  difficult  to  remember  at  least  ten  good  lines  out  of  each  ten 
pages;  it  is  not  difficult  to  think  out  the  philosophy  of  ten  good 
pages;  and  ten  good  pages  each  day  are  three  thousand  six  hundred 
and  fifty  pages  in  the  course  of  a  year,  and  with  the  average  of  four 
hundred  pages  to  a  book,  you  will  see  what  you  can  do  in  each  year 
of  your  life. 

Now  the  second  decimal  rule  that  I  want  to  suggest  is  this:  No 
matter  how  little  you  earn,  try  to  save  one-tenth  of  your  income.  At 
the  start  you  won't  earn  much,  and  economy  will  be  very  hard.  I 
know  myself  what  it  is  to  earn  very  little  money,  to  work  hard  and  to 
live  hard.  But  whatever  your  income  is,  try  to  save  one-tenth  of  it. 
One  cent  out  of  every  dime,  one  dime  out  of  every  dollar,  and  the 


GRADUATION  DAY  133 

average  woman  and  the  average  man,  before  fifty  years  of  age,  will 
have  accomplished  a  competency.  The  money  that  you  squander,  and 
the  money  that  you  waste,  wastes  your  life  and  drags  you  down.  It 
is  your  duty  to  save  money;  your  duty  to  save  it  so  that  you  may 
educate  children;  your  duty  to  save  it  so  that  you  may  have  something 
to  give  to  others;  your  duty  to  save  it  so  that  you  shall  be  a  mistress 
and  a  master  of  other  men,  and  not  a  bound  servant  compelled  to  labor 
in  order  that  you  may  simply  live.  I  do  not  believe  that  I  shall  cross 
the  philosophy  of  the  bishop  who  sits  on  this  platform,  when  I  say 
that  intelligent  economy  is  practical  Christianity. 

Now  for  the  third  and  last  decimal  rule:  No  matter  what  your 
income,  give  away  one-tenth.  Give  it  away  intelligently,  one  cent  of 
every  dime,  one  dime  out  of  every  dollar,  one-tenth  of  all  your  earn- 
ings, and  you  will  grow  to  a  large  and  a  complete  manhood,  if  you  fol- 
low these  three  simple  decimal  rules.  Giving  money  will  make  you 
intelligently  generous  and  the  steady  study  of  a  little  learning  every 
day  will  keep  your  minds  broadening  and  expanding.  And  think  of 
the  woman  or  the  man  at  fifty  years  of  age  who  shall  have  put  ten  lines 
of  honest,  sterling  thought  into  her  brain  or  his  brain  every  day  of 
life;  think  of  the  woman  or  man  who  shall  have  saved  one-tenth  of 
all  the  income  that  she  or  he  earns  and  put  it  away,  not  in  speculation, 
but  in  honest  and  legitimate  saving.  Think  of  the  man  or  woman  who 
doing  this  shall  have  intelligently  given  away  one-tenth  every  day, 
every  year  of  life  and  so  shall  have  developed  enduring  and  generous 
character. 

This  will  be  something  that  you  can  carry  with  you  beyond  the 
grave.  A  mind  that" shall  be  rich,  stored  with  the  learning  of  the  past; 
a  brain  that  shall  be  intelligently  economical,  learning  how  to  master 
and  minister,  and  guard  the  affairs  of  life;  a  character,  a  mind,  a  brain, 
that  shall  never  have  learned  to  be  miserly,  but  shall  have  learned  to 
be  intelligently  generous.  Take  these  business  decimal  rules  into  your 
life,  and  life  will  be  useful  to  you  here  and  in  the  ages  to  come. 


WHAT  COLLEGE  DOES  FOR  GIRLS. 

(Graduation  Day  Address.) 


James  Monroe  Taylor, 

(Former   President    of   Vassar   College.) 


IT  is  quite  impossible  for  a  girl  of  to-day  to  appreciate  how  vast  a 
change  has  taken  place  in  one  generation.  There  were  colleges 
more  than  thirty  years  ago  that  educated  women,  but  instead  of 
a  general  recognition  of  the  worth  of  such  education  there  were  doubt, 
suspicion,  derision,  scorn.  In  the  early  part  of  the  last  century  Mrs. 
John  Adams  said  that  the  education  of  girls  was  confined  to  writing 
and  arithmetic;  and,  in  the  case  of  those  specially  favored,  music  and 
dancing.  Frances  Power  Cobbe's  training  at  one  of  the  best  schools 
for  girls  in  England,  where  a  chief  point  in  education  was  to  enter  and 
leave  a  carriage  gracefully,  would  interest  and  amuse  any  girl  who  will 
read  that  chapter  of  her  autobiography.  Emma  Willard,  the  great 
American  leader  in  this  educational  reform,  tested  her  proficiency  in 


134  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

mathematics  on  a  college  sophomore  before  she  quite  ventured  to 
believe  that  women  could  master  geometry.  Some  educators  back  in 
the  opening  days  of  Vassar  in  1865,  and  even  later,  raised  questions 
as  to  the  capacity  of  a  woman's  mind  for  college  education,  and  chal- 
lenged the  sanity  of  those  who  were  attempting  the  task.  Now  the 
great  majority  of  colleges  for  men  have  opened  their  doors  to  women, 
and  all  the  separate  women's  colleges  are  overcrowded.  There  are 
over  twenty  thousand  women  students  in  American  colleges,  and  the 
work  has  spread  in  Spain,  in  France,  in  Germany,  in  England,  in  Rus- 
sia, in  Austria,  and  even  makes  a  beginning  in  Egypt  and  the  far  East. 
However  viewed,  as  an  economic  or  social  problem,  as  an  influence  in 
home,  society,  church  and  State,  no  movement  of  our  wonderful  last 
century  can  be  ranked  above  this  in  the  scope  and  endurance  of  its 
influence. 

College  education  for  girls  was  an  answer  to  a  new  need.  There 
were  always  women  active  in  public  concerns,  and  educated  women, 
but  never  a  time  before  when  women  took  so  large  a  part  in  the 
world's  life.  In  literature,  in  journalism,  in  education,  in  all  the  pro- 
fessions, in  organized  charities,  hospitals,  prisons,  in  missions,  temper- 
ance and  the  Red  Cross,  in  politics,  even,  and  in  business,  woman  is 
at  work,  not  as  an  unintelligent  and  dependent  factor,  but„as  director  and 
organizer.  Such  an  extension  of  influence  and  responsibility  demands 
larger  training  of  body,  mind  and  spirit;  and  college  education  is  the 
best  single  answer  to  the  demand.  How  does  it  meet  it?  First,  it  sets 
before  itself  an  ideal  of  what  a  life  should  be,  and  works  definitely 
toward  it.  That  ideal  is  not  to  take  away  anything  that  belongs  to 
woman,  but  to  heighten  her  powers  and  broaden  them,  and  to  develop 
well-rounded  womanhood.  The  college  differs,  properly,  from  the  uni- 
versity in  that  it  aims  at  general  and  liberal  education  rather  than  train- 
ing for  some  special  work.  If  one  part  of  the  education  of  a  boy  or 
girl  can  be  more  important  than  another,  it  is,  therefore,  just  this  col- 
lege section  of  it,  because  of  its  aim,  and  because  of  the  age  to  which 
it  addresses  itself. 

The  college  youth  is  at  the  most  susceptible  stage  of  training,  re- 
sponsive to  new  ideals,  reaching  out  enthusiastically  into  new  and  un- 
tried ways,  eager  to  confront  new  questions,  awake  to  the  calls  of 
friendships  which  make  or  mar  the  life ;  physically,  mentally,  religiously 
awakened,  susceptible,  longing  for  guidance,  or  ambitious  to  throw  off 
every  restraint — this  is  the  time  of  the  student's  gravest  danger  and 
the  teacher's  supreme  opportunity.  Now  is  made  the  character  which 
shapes  the  after  life;  now  are  born  the  ideals  which  form  the  scholar, 
the  active  business  manager,  the  administrator,  the  broad  man  or 
woman  who  turns  with  well-rounded  life  and  formed  energies  toward 
any  task  the  world  may  impose,  and  any  opportunity  that  may  be 
opened  to  mind  and  heart.  But  how  do  we  work  toward  our  ideals? 
Thorough  intellectual  training  must  have  the  foremost  place  in  the  an- 
swer of  the  college.  Whether  science  will  ever  show  radical  difference 
between  woman's  mind  and  man's  or  not,  may  well  be  doubted;  but, 
whatever  the  possible  differences,  they  will  never  bear  against  the  fact 
that  the  intellectual  training  given  must  be  thorough,  definite,  accurate, 
scholarly.    Girls  ought  often  to  be  shown,  in  the  course  of  their  early 


GRADUATION  DAY  135 

studies,  just  how  much  that  seems  uninteresting  and  pointless  is  yet 
helping  to  give  them  mental  force  and  direction,  as  truly  as  their  gym- 
nastics are  forming  muscles  and  making  possible  quick  response  of 
body  to  will.  The  skill  gradually  acquired  in  any  game,  tennis,  basket- 
ball, may  illustrate  how  important  to  mental  skill  and  readiness  is  this 
definite,  strict,  steady  mental  discipline.  Necessarily,  with  this  training 
the  addition  to  the  resources  of  life  is  continuous.  Every  study  adds 
a  vista  to  the  life  of  the  mind,  new  suggestions  of  Imowledge,  fresh  in- 
terests to  be  pursued  some  day,  facts  that  will  come  back  most  un- 
expectedly and  happily  in  our  hour  of  need. 

As  one  advances  in  college,  and  begins  to  deal  with  the  great  ques- 
tions of  economics,  philosophy,  science,  history,  literature,  the  re- 
sources of  life  are  multiplied  rapidly,  and  the  college  begins  to  give 
the  rewards  of  culture  to  those  who  have  gained  the  earlier  training; 
but  only  begins.  Much  as  the  student  gains  from  college  study,  and 
inestimably  precious  as  the  mere  knowledge  is,  the  chief  result,  in- 
tellectually, is  the  steadying  and  training  of  all  the  mental  powers,  the 
rendering  them  fit  to  respond  to  her  calls,  and  then  the  great  outlook 
over  the  field  of  knowledge,  which  shall  abide  ever  as  a  blessed  and 
inspiring  vision,  whether  she  be  able  to  follow  the  beckoning  of  schol- 
arship, or  whether  in  the  toils  of  the  world's  work  she  keeps  the  vision 
only  as  the  saver  of  her  soul  from  the  bondage  of  the  sordid  and  the 
common. 


THREADS  OF  LIGHT. 

(Graduation  Day  Address.) 


THIS  day  we  close  for  the  year  the schools.  We  now  part 
with  you,  the  girls  and  boys  we  are  no  more  to  teach.  I  say 
girls  and  boys,  for,  when  threescore  and  ten  years  have  come  to 
you,  you  will  be  glad  to  have  your  friends  say  that  health  and  peace 
of  mind  have  kept  your  hearts  warm;  that  you  wear  no  brow  of  gloom, 
are  not  borne  down  with  age,  but  still,  in  heart,  are  girls  and  boys. 
When  these  years  come,  and  I  hope  they  will  come  to  all,  the  tide  of 
time  will  roll  back  and  tell  you  of  your  school-time  days,  when  the! 
fair,  the  kind,  and  the  true,  found  love;  but  the  false  heart  found  no 
friend,  no  tongues  to  praise.  These  days  bring  rich  gifts  to  age;  when 
you  shall  cease  to  think  of  them,  your  fire  has  burned  low  and  your 
light  has  gone  out.     Here  you  have  been  taught  in  the  hope  that  the 

school  would  help  to  make  you  of  use  to  your  friends  and  to 

the  world,  would  give  you  faith  in  all  that  is  good  and  true,  and  lead 
you  to  seek  work.  For  that  you  must  seek  and  do,  if  you  would  have 
a  good  name,  wealth,  a  home,  a  charge  to  keep,  or  a  trust  to  serve. 
Go  forth  with  a  bold,  true  heart  to  seek  the  work  for  you  to  do.  Keep 
in  mind  that  the  hours  to  work  run  through  each  day,  and  that  God's 
great  law  of  life  is,  "In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread." 

Now,  for  you,  young  man,  this  truth  is  told.  Go  where  you  will, 
through  the  world,  and  you  will  find  on  the  front  doors  of  shops  and 
mills,  of  stores  and  banks,  on  ships,  on  farms,  on  roads,  in  deep  mines 
where  men  toil  for  wealth;  where  laws  are  made  that  make  some  men 
too  rich  and  men  of  worth  and  work  through  all  our  land  too  poor; 


136  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

where  men  by  law  are  taught  to  plot  with  sin,  to  spurn  the  right; 
where  law  is  so  pleaded  that  the  judge  must  guess  to  find  what's  law; 
where  quacks  most  fight  over  sick  men's  pains  and  dead  men's  bones; 
where  types  are  set  and  none  to  mind  the  proofs;  where  priests  do 
preach  and  pray,  and  where  schools  are  taught  this  sign:  "Brains  Will 
Find  Work  Here."  Don't  fear.  Step  up,  ask  for  work;  brains  will 
get  it. 

If  asked:  "What  can  you  do?  Will  you  learn  a  trade?"  say:  "I 
have  none,  but  I  can  learn  one  and  put  brains  into  it."  When  you  go 
to  a  place  where  brains  should  hunt  for  work  and  be  sure  to  find  it,  it 
may  be  said  to  you:  "Do  you  see  that  plow?  Can  you  hold  and  drive 
it  deep?"  That  plow,  in  its  wise  use,  gives  all  men  food.  Do  you  see 
that  wheel,  that  crank,  those  shafts,  that  press;  do  you  hear  the  rush 
and  hiss  of  the  steam  which  moves  them?  Can  you  make  and  hold 
and  run  them?  Can  you  build  and  drive  the  works  and  wheels  which 
make  the  wealth  of  the  earth  and  cause  it  to  roll  and  to  float  to  and 
fro  from  place  to  place,  where  it  is  best  for  man  to  use  it?  Can 
you  spin  the  thread  and  weave  it  which  makes  robes  for  kings  and  silks 
for  the  rich  and  vain,  and  dress  for  the  poor,  and  all  that  skill  and  art 
have  wrought  by  loom  and  hand  for  man's  use?  These  things  are  all 
shot  through  with  threads  of  light,  the  light  of  mind  and  art  and  skill 
which  shines  each  day  more  bright  and  dims  all  the  old  by  some  new- 
found light  as  the  years  go  on. 


EDUCATION'S  AIMS. 

('Graduation  Day  Address.) 


Charles  F.  Thwing, 

(President  of  Western  Reserve   University  and  Adclbert  College.) 


EDUCATION  seeks  to  make  character  vigorous  without  making  it 
harsh  or  boisterous,  patient  without  indifference,  conscientious 
without  being  hypercritical,  efficient  without  ostentatiousness, 
symmetrical  and  impressive,  noble  and  self-reliant,  but  sympathetic 
with  the  less  worthy,  rich  in  itself,  but  without  selfishness.  The  prob- 
lem of  education  is  not  to  teach  us  how  to  make  the  bow  of  Ulysses — 
that  bow  is  made  without  difficulty — but  it  is  to  create  men  of  strength, 
of  self-restraint,  who  can  bend  the  bow.  The  problem  is  not  so  much 
to  teach  men  how  to  get  rich,  although  that  may  be  important,  but 
how  to  use  riches  after  they  are  gained;  hew  to  save  themselves  from 
being  crushed  by  its  responsibilities,  from  being  smothered  by  its  soft 
pleasures,  or  torn  in  pieces  by  its  distractions.  The  problem  is  not 
how  to  get  great  honor,  place,  eminence,  but  how  to  bear  the  responsi- 
bilities which  great  honor  always  carries  along  with  it.  Education 
seeks  to  make  the  individual  of  resource,  of  the  power  of  initiative,  of 
honesty  and  honor,  in  whom  the  vision  of  truth  is  united  with  tho 
power  of  doing  one's  duty,  in  whom  tenderness  of  heart  for  the  suf- 
fering is  justly  joined  with  capacity  for  moral  indignations.  It  seeks 
to  train  leaders — intellectual,  ethical,  religious,  civil.  It  seeks  also  to 
lift  the  whole  level  of  the  race  to  broader  and  clearer  seeing,  to  finer 
thinking  and  nobler  appreciation. 


GRADUATION  DAY  137 

BE  UP  AND  DOING. 

(Graduation  Day  Address.) 


Charles  A.  Wingerter. 

YOUNG  men  of  the  graduating  class,  my  first  word  to  you  is  one 
of  congratulation.  Alma  mater  has  crowned  you  with  her  "well 
done."  It  is  a  precious  title.  May  the  felicitations  of  all  who 
are  here  to  greet  you  by  their  presence,  help  you  to  appreciate  it  fully. 
This  is  your  Commencement  Day.  To-day  you  begin  life's  race.  God 
speed  you  in  it!  But,  remember  that  while  the  prize  is  offered  to  all 
who  start,  it  is  given  only  to  those  who  persevere  to  the  goal.  It  is 
good  for  us,  your  elder  brothers,  who  have  already  battled  for  a  space, 
and  who,  panting  and  weary,  but  undaunted,  have  come  back  to  sit  a 
moment  to-day  at  the  feet  of  our  foster-mother,  to  repose  and  gain 
new  courage  and  vigor  when  we  take  up  the  fight  anew.  To-day  we 
rest;  to-day  we  relax  our  straightened  sinews  and  our  overstrung 
nerves.  We  have  become  as  little  children  again,  reclining  at  our  alma 
mater's  feet,  with  her  soothing  touch  upon  our  brow.  As  we  recall  the 
heroic  stories  of  the  early  missionaries,  who,  by  arduous  lives  and 
sometimes  bloody  deaths,  witnessed  for  the  true  God  in  the  face  of 
savage  nature  and  still  more  savage  man;  of  the  great  prelates  who, 
in  the  forefront  of  battle,  opposed  themselves  to  the  bigotry  of  ignor- 
ance, and,  still  worse,  indifference;  of  the  great  educators  who  wit- 
nessed for  the  God  of  right  learning  in  the  schools  and  colleges;  of 
the  men  and  women  who  slowly  built  up  noble  charities — as  we  recall 
all  these  things,  we  are  forced  to  ask  ourselves,  What  are  we  now  to 
do?  Having  had  placed  into  our  hands  the  princely  heritage  of  the 
glorious  deeds  done  with  heroic  energy  by  past  and  passing  genera- 
tions, we  must  perforce  ask  ourselves.  Is  this  all,  is  the  work  finished, 
are  we  idly  to  stagnate,  to  sit  in  luxurious  indolence,  to  rest  content 
with  the  laurels  of  our  fathers  and  our  elder  brothers?  Your  voices, 
resonant  of  youth;  your  eyes  scintillating  with  the  fire  of  energy  that 
will  not  be  subdued;  your  hearts,  vibrant  with  power  of  endurance  that 
asks  to  be  but  tried;  your  souls,  enkindled  at  the  university  by  the 
ambition  to  make  your  lives  to  count  for  something  that  is  worth 
while — give  the  answer,  "No!" 

Let  us  then  be  up  and  doing  in  very  truth!  For  us  no  lurking  in 
the  comfortable  shades!  No  skulking  in  the  pleasant  by-paths!  No 
trailing  towards  the  rear!  It  should  never  be  said  of  any  graduate 
in  this  university,  it  must  not  be  said  of  any  one  of  this  day's  class 
of  graduates  that  he  shirked  the  call  to  the  firing-line  in  these 
days  of  tremendous  opportunity  and  grim  responsibility.  Young  gen- 
tlemen, you  have  been  cast  in  no  narrow  mold.  The  wisdom 
of  centuries  has  guided  the  teaching  that  has  shaped  your  char- 
acters, trained  your  minds,  sharpened  your  faculties,  and  filled  your 
breasts  with  precious  knowledge  in  this  great  seat  of  learning.  You 
have  been  taught  in  this  university  to  love  God  and  your  con- 
science first,  to  love  your  native  land  next  only  to  them,  to  guard  it 
as  you  would  the  apple  of  your  eye.  Your  fathers  and  your  fathers' 
sires  marched  and  fought  and  wrought  and  poured  out  their  hearts' 


138  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

best  blood  in  lavish  streams  to  bring  into  being  this  great  republic, 
where  the  tears  of  the  people  of  all  lands  are  wiped  away,  where  chil- 
dren are  born  to  liberty,  sing  its  songs  and  grow  up  in  its  strength  and 
might;  and,  later  on,  when  a  mighty  peril  placed  the  nation's  life  in 
direst  jeopardy,  your  comrades  in  numbers  that  cannot  be  counted 
walked  again  the  perilous  heights  of  a  duty  undismayed,  and  fought 
and  bled  anew  that  a  government  of  the  people,  for  the  people  and 
by  the  people  should  not  perish  from  the  earth. 

Even  if  your  names  are  to  be  engraven  on  no  tablets  of  bronze 
and  your  praises  are  to  be  sung  by  no  mortal  voice,  your  true  success 
will  be  assured  if  you  cling  fast  to  the  principles  of  honor  and  duty  and 
fidelity  taught  you  in  these  classic  shades.  Behind  the  great  and  glori- 
ous galaxy  of  suns  which  we  are  permitted  to  see  in  the  heavens,  there 
are  unnumbered  myriads  of  no  lesser  stars,  known  only  to  the  Creator, 
who  made  them  and  flung  them  into  space  to  spin  in  the  tireless  and 
distant  orbits  marked  out  for  them  by  His  wisdom.  The  most  glorious 
stories  of  heroes  are  those  that  are  never  told  on  history's  page,  the 
gladdest  paeans  are  those  that  are  never  sung  by  human  lips.  Men 
have  witnessed  for  the  truth,  for  the  reality  and  power  of  the  life 
eternal,  not  only  by  their  labors,  their  achievements,  their  characters, 
and  their  sufferings,  but  also  by  their  defeats.  Somewhere  at  this 
hour  is  being  sung  the  hymn  of  glory  to  the  vanquished.  Many  whom 
the  world  pities  as  victims  will  be  crowned  as  victors  by  the  omniscient 
and  just  God.  It  is  no  dishonor  to  lie  dead  and  vanquished  on  the 
field  of  battle  when  your  face  is  turned  towards  the  foe  that  smites 
you  and  the  brightest  light  of  divine  scrutiny  can  find  no  flaw  in  your 
armor  and  no  stain  upon  your  shield.  We  must  all  learn  the  lesson  of 
renunciation.  We  cannot  go  forward  to  any  prize  without  leaving  be- 
hind many  things  that  seem  desirable.  We  may  be  shadowed  by 
sorrow,  scourged  by  the  fierce  fires  of  suffering,  panged  by  the  sharp 
stings  of  defeat,  but  we  must  not  murmur  as  we  renounce.  We  must 
think  only  of  the  prize. 

Go  forth,  then,  inflamed  with  holy  zeal  and  tempered  with  power 
to  endure.  Let  not  the  fear  of  failure  daunt  you.  Fight  pluckily  to 
the  last  ditch.  Go  and  take  your  place  wherever  it  is  assigned  you, 
high  or  low.  Do  your  particular  duty  whatever  it  may  be,  remember- 
ing that  "on  what  field  or  in  what  uniform  or  with  what  arms  we  do 
our  duty  matters  little,  or  even  what  our  duty  is,  great  or  small,  splen- 
did or  obscure;  only  to  find  our  duty  certainly;  somewhere,  somehow, 
to  do  it  faithfully,  makes  us  good,  strong,  happy  and  useful  men,  and 
attunes  our  lives  into  some  feeble  echo  of  the  light  divine."  Go,  with 
your  lives  trained  in  strong,  impartial  and  gentle  thought,  your  hearts 
disciplined  in  purity  and  unselfish  love,  your  tongues  controlled  to 
silence  and  to  truth  and  stainless  speech,  your  souls  inured  to  the  law 
of  right  living  and  of  selfless  service;  go,  dauntless,  steadfast,  serene. 
Go!  You  are  your  brothers'  keepers;  the  future  of  America  is  en- 
trusted in  some  part  to  your  zeal.  Go!  Your  alma  mater  expects  you 
to  do  your  duty  and  hold  untarnished  the  honor  of  her  name. 


Put  your  trust  in  God,  but  mind  to  keep  your  powder  dry. 

— Oliver  Cromwell. 


GRADUATION  DAY  139 

ACTION  NEEDS  PURPOSE. 

(Graduation  Day  Address.) 


Laura  Drake  Gill, 

(Dean  of  Barnard  College.) 


YOU  are  passing  through  massive  gates  to-day.  They  have  swung 
wide  open  to  let  you  pass  out  into  the  realities  of  mature  life. 
Some  of  you  are  looking  back  upon  the  path  which  you  have 
followed  for  many  years;  to  you  the  day  appears  in  the  light  of  grad- 
uation. If  there  is  any  time  when  it  is  justifiable  to  look  backward 
rather  than  forward,  it  is  in  such  a  crisis  as  this.  Yet,  looking  back- 
ward is  not  natural  for  long.  You  are  moving  forward,  and  wisdom 
suggests  that  you  look  in  the  direction  of  your  movement.  Therefore 
most  of  you  are  facing  out  toward  the  new  life,  and  are  thinking  of 
the  day  as  one  of  commencement — commencement  of  new  duties,  com- 
mencement of  heavier  responsibilities,  commencement  of  the  self- 
achieved  success  which  will  determine  your  place  in  society. 

The  great  problem  confronting  you  is  this:  "What  will  bring  suc- 
cess?" My  brief  message  to  you  relates  to  the  sure  knowledge  which 
inevitably  follows  conscientious  action.  By  this  I  do  not  mean,  of 
course,  aimless  action.  As  art  for  art's  sake  is  not  the  highest  motive 
for  art,  so  activity  for  activity's  sake  may  be  a  relief  for  tense  nerves, 
but  it  is  more  likely  to  conceal  than  to  illuminate  the  vital  issue.  Few 
temptations  beset  American  life  to-day  more  dangerous  than  that  of 
over-exertion  in  valueless  activity.  Idleness  is  bad,  but  far  worse  is 
nervous  exhaustion  in  the  pursuit  of  things  not  worth  the  winning. 
Action,  then,  to  have  its  right  value,  must  be  action  with  a  purpose. 
To  some  of  you  the  purpose  is  very  distinct.  A  chosen  profession,  a 
well-defined  duty,  a  recognized  taste  or  capacity — any  one  of  these 
blessings  may  lend  a  clear  motive  to  your  effort.  You  who  have  such 
clear  visions  of  the  goal  are  to  be  highly  congratulated— congratulated 
not  so  much  because  your  chances  of  success  are  exceptional  as  be- 
cause you  are  given  the  unity  of  action  and  keen  enthusiasm  born  of 
concrete  hope.  You  are  surely  blessed  in  the  present;  the  future  can 
be  trusted  to  care  for  itself.  This  assurance  is  more  general  for  boys 
than  for  girls.  Large  numbers  of  girls  believe  that  in  their  individual 
cases  a  definite  plan  of  life  is  forbidden.  The  definiteness  of  purpose 
need  not  be  one  whit  less  because  the  facts  of  life  are  manifestly  un- 
certain; the  definiteness  need  only  be  lifted  to  a  more  abstract  plane. 
Seek  to  unify  the  scattering  duties  to  a  general  intellectual  and  moral 
end,  and  the  petty  routine  becomes  a  stepping-stone  to  high  attain- 
ment. Absolute  honesty  and  a  definite  will  often  produce  better  results 
without  unusual  intellectual  gifts  or  opportunity  than  the  keenest  intel- 
lect can  attain  without  these  moral  qualities.  Since  well-directed  power 
is  the  measure  of  success,  it  is  within  the  reach  of  every  human  being. 
Let  us  define  a  philosophy  of  life.  It  is  not  what  we  think  about 
life,  but  the  convictions  which  govern  our  actions.  A  man  may  believe 
himself  unselfish,  may  even  talk  with  enthusiasm  of  the  beauty  of  self- 
sacrifice;  but  if  the  acts  of  his  life  are  selfish,  no  one  hesitates  for  a 
moment  to  characterize  his  philosophy  as  a  selfish  one.  Wall  Street 
knows  the  business  honesty  of  many  a  man  more  clearly  than  he  has 


140  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

ever  dared  acknowledge  his  philosophy  to  himself.  Every  school  has 
certainly  watched  some  student  whose  action  did  not  square  with  his 
avowed  principle;  no  one  questions  which  is  the  real  and  which  the 
imagined  philosophy  of  that  student.  A  sane  philosophy  of  life  comes 
through  a  life  well  lived.  It  is  not  by  looking  on  and  theorizing  about 
life,  but  by  entering  into  it  heartily,  honestly,  conscientiously,  that  we 
learn  to  recognize  our  own  part,  then  later  the  parts  of  others,  until  at 
last  the  great  drama  of  human  life  becomes  full  of  rich  meaning. 

Two  famous  men  stand  out  as  examples  of  this  principle.  One 
failed  signally  to  find  any  hopeful  foundation  principles  for  a  working 
philosophy,  although  he  had  as  keen  a  mind  as  the  world  has  often 
seen.  He  has  been  styled  the  "father  of  modern  pessimism."  The1 
other  was  assailed  by  even  greater  doubts,  but  he  seized  every  positive 
conviction  which  was  allowed  to  him  and  formed  upon  it  an  active 
campaign  of  service  to  his  fellows.  He  ended  with  a  glorious  philoso- 
phy which  stimulates  every  reader  of  his  words.  These  two  men  were 
contemporaries;  they  were  Arthur  Schopenhauer  and  Frederick  Will- 
iam Robertson.  .Arthur  Schopenhauer  was  a  German  philosopher  and 
man  of  letters.  When  thirty  years  of  age  he  went  to  Berlin  as  lecturer 
in  philosophy,  and  began  his  work  with  the  most  extravagant  estimate 
of  the  importance  of  his  own  opinions  and  with  open  contempt  for  the 
prevailing  idealistic  philosophy  represented  at  that  time  in  Berlin  by 
Hegel.  Schopenhauer's  vanity  led  him  to  announce  his  lectures  at  the 
same  hour  as  Hegel's  chief  course.  The  consequence  was  inevitable; 
Schopenhauer  had  a  small  hearing,  was  obliged  to  discontinue  hisi 
course,  became  embittered,  and  withdrew  to  private  life.  Frederick 
William  Robertson  approached  his  intellectual  problems  from  the  other 
side;  he  went  through  the  darkest  hours  of  philosophical  doubt  and  of 
personal  sacrifice  for  his  convictions.  He  resigned  his  pastorate  at 
Cheltenham,  went  abroad  to  fight  his  spiritual  battle  through,  studied 
night  and  day  to  reach  a  sound  basis  for  a  religious  faith,  kept  his 
troubles  to  himself,  believing  that  "a  man  should  burn  his  own  smoke 
if  he  cannot  convert  it  into  pure  flame."  He  said,  "In  the  darkest  hour 
through  which  a  human  soul  can  pass,  whatever  else  is  doubtful,  this 
at  least  is  certain, — If  there  be  no  God  and  no  future,  yet  even  then  it 
is  better  to  be  generous  than  selfish,  better  to  be  chaste  than  licentious, 
better  to  be  true  than  false,  better  to  be  brave  than  to  be  a  coward." 
Here  was  a  man  who  did  not  hold  himself  aloof  from  the  struggle  of 
life  and  busy  himself  with  his  doubts.  He  faced  them  honestly;  sorted 
out  the  positive  things  he  knew;  developed  a  positive  philosophy  of 
action,  and  gradually  came  to  the  logical  triumph. 

To-day  you  are  probably  in  a  state  of  joy  and  exuberance.  You 
are  feeling  your  place  as  an  individual.  This  is  the  part  of  youth.  To- 
morrow you  will  just  as  surely  have  a  reaction,  when  you  come  to  see 
how  small  your  part  is  in  the  old  world.  Then  comes  a  time  of  de- 
spair. You  can  only  rid  yourself  of  it  by  action.  Play  your  part  well 
— be  it  small  or  great — and  despair  will  disappear  like  the  morning  mist 
before  the  sun.  It  is  to  action  alone  that  we  must  look  for  the  antidote 
to  ennui,  for  the  truer  sensations,  for  the  growing  will.  What  we 
earn  we  enjoy.  Action  makes  your  environment  your  servant.  It  has 
been  wisely  said  that  every  really  useful,  every  active  man  in  any  sense, 
is  always  a  hopeful  man. 


GRADUATION  DAY  141 

In  closing,  let  me  quote  the  words  of  President  David  Starr  Jor- 
dan: "To-day  is  your  day  and  mine;  the  only  day  we  have,  the  day  in 
which  we  play  our  part.  What  our  part  may  signify  in  the  great  whole 
we  may  not  understand;  but  we  are  here  to  play  it,  and  now  is  our 
time.  This  we  know,  it  is  a  part  of  love,  not  of  cynicism.  It  is  for 
us  to  express  love  in  terms  of  human  helpfulness.  Wisdom  is  in  know- 
ing what  to  do  next.    Virtue  is  in  doing  it." 

BEGINNINGS  OF  THINGS. 

(Kindergarten  Association   Address.) 


Mary  Jean  Miller. 


ONCE  upon  a  time  a  seed  of  corn  fell  into  the  earth.  The  seed 
of  corn  was  hard,  dry  and  apparently  lifeless.  It  was  yellow  and 
small.  The  earth  was  cold,  black,  dark  and  dry.  The  great  sun 
radiated  heat  and  light,  and  warmed  the  earth.  The  rain  came  and 
wet  the  warm,  dark  earth.  The  balmy  south  breeze  tempered  the 
atmosphere,  and  life  inside  the  small  seed  of  yellow  corn  was  stirred 
into  activity.  This  force  in  action  was  too  large  for  the  seed  corn's 
shell,  and  it  burst  in  silence;  for  all  of  the  material  for  sprout  and  root- 
lets of  the  forthcoming  blade  and  ear  were  compressed  into  the  small 
yellow  seed  cf  corn.  This  is  only  a  bit  of  nature's  life  history,  and 
nature's  method  of  growth.  Once  upon  a  time  a  tiny  bundle  lay  in 
a  fond  mother's  arms.  The  good  warm  sun,  the  refreshing  rain,  the 
purifying  air,  and  the  firm  earth,  furnished  material  for  food,  clothing 
and  shelter.  The  brave,  true  parents  supplied  an  atmosphere  of  happi- 
ness and  harmony,  and  the  tender,  yielding,  physical  and  spiritual  of 
the  babe,  stirred  by  the  breath  of  life,  grew,  expanded,  developed.  It 
had  no  shell  to  break,  yet  within  this  tiny  bundle  in  the  mother's  arms 
were  all  of  the  possibilities  of  the  future  man.  This  babe,  so  helpless 
and  innocent,  is  to  become  a  helpful  and  wise  creature,  or — a  harmful 
and  wicked  one.  And  this  is  a  bit  of  humanity's  life  history;  but  what 
shall  be  the  best  method  of  development? 

The  kindergarten  was  a  natural  product  of  its  time  and  Froebel  a 
necessary  person  to  discover  the  method  of  nature  regarding  human- 
ity. The  kindergarten  could  not  be  kept  away  from  America,  any  more 
than  could  Christopher  Columbus;  it  is  as  integral  a  part  of  our  great 
republic  school  system  as  the  public  school  is  in  turn  an  essential  part 
of  our  republic.  Rightly  to  understand  the  place  of  the  kindergarten 
in  our  national  system  of  education  it  is  necessary  to  look  backward. 
It  is  less  than  a  hundred  years  since  the  kindergarten  had  a  discoverer 
in  Germany.  It  is  less  than  fifty  years  since  the  kindergarten  had  an 
existence  in  the  United  States,  and  it  is  only  forty  years  since  it  was 
first  a  part  of  any  public  school  in  our  country.  To-day  we  have  more 
than  300,000  children  in  kindergartens  and  more  than  4,000  kindergart- 
ners.     And  why  this  phenomenal  growth? 

We  sometimes  are  alarmed  when  we  consider  the  great  material 
prosperity  of  our  nation.  But  need  we  fear  when  our  great  benefactor, 
the  public  school,  is  incorporating  into  its  very  being  such  a  system  of 
education  as  that  for  which  the  kindergarten  stands— a  system  which 
holds  (and  practices  as  far  as  the  public  demands  and  conditions  will 


142  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

permit)  that  the  physical  as  well  as  the  mental,  that  the  moral  as  well 
as  the  religious,  that  the  social  and  aesthetic  as  well  as  the  emotional 
natures,  must  each  and  all  be  equally  and  harmoniously  developed? 
"We  need  have  no  fear,  if  we  educate  our  children  properly,"  says 
Froebel.  In  the  slavery  of  ignorance  only  is  there  danger.  In  the  free- 
dom of  all-round  development  is  there  salvation  for  any  sin,  victory 
over  any  vice. 

I  should  be  of  narrow  vision  indeed  if  I  could  not  behold  "through 
a  glass  darkly"  the  fact  that  our  public  school  system  is  far  from  per- 
fect; it  is  not  even  complete,  but  its  possibilities  are  so  limitless,  its 
foundations  are  so  solid,  and  its  basis  is  so  secure,  who  can  predict 
but  that  our  republic  shall  succeed  and  that  our  democracy  shall  make 
possible  all  that  it  promises?  As  yet  our  public  school  system  does 
not  satisfy  the  needs  of  all.  The  elementary  school  prepares  for  the 
secondary  school,  and  that  in  turn  for  the  high  school  and  college; 
but  the  few  only  can  go  to  college.  The  leaven  of  the  kindergarten 
shall  require  time  only  to  vitalize  these  various  departments  which 
now  lack  a  practical  humanitarian  touch;  for  the  kindergarten  holds 
to  the  principle  that  each  is  an  essential  part  of  the  social  whole,  be 
he  rich  or  poor,  black  or  white,  imprisoned  or  free;  that  he,  therefore, 
is  worthy  of  the  development  which  results  from  knowing  and  doing 
things  in  the  company  of  others,  who  have  equal  opportunity  with 
himself. 


HISTORICAL  NOVEL. 

(Graduation  Day  Essay.) 


Robert  J.  McLaughlin. 


IN  this  busy  age  of  material  progress  we  are  told  that  literature  has 
lain  dormant  and  that  the  world  of  letters  has  receded  rather  than 
advanced.  In  a  large  measure  this  may  be  true;  nevertheless  a 
unique  development — that  of  the  historical  novel — is  rising  out  of  the 
darkness  and  appearing  in  what  we  hope  is  the  dawn  of  a  new  litera- 
ture. In  classic  days  anything  as  light  and  unreal  as  the  historical 
novel  would  have  been  an  impossibility.  The  sober  Greeks  and  Romans 
had  no  history  but  that  which  they  themselves  were  making.  War 
and  politics  were  their  trades;  and,  when  they  turned  to  literature, 
verse  was  the  medium,  and  mythology,  not  history,  the  theme. 
Through  the  Middle  .Ages  men  of  letters  seemed  g»oping  to  discover 
the  historical  novel,  but  not  until  Sir  Walter  Scott  did  the  world  know 
its  attractions.  It  has  been  urged  against  the  historical  novel  that  it 
cannot  be  true  to  the  times  and  the  people  of  which  it  pretends  to 
afford  a  description,  because  it  derives  its  insight  and  information  from 
the  imagination  of  the  author.  This  objection  seems  plausible,  but  it  is 
unjust.  The  ideal  of  the  historical  novelist  is  founded  on  historical 
fact,  is  the  true  interpretation  of  history,  the  proper  analysis  of  human 
action,  and  the  just  deductions  of  the  master-mind.  Human  nature  is 
confined  to  no  age  and  to  no  clime,  and  so  the  philosopher  of  life  may 
read  between  the  lines  of  history,  and  discover  the  motives  and  mean- 
ing of  those  who  have  acted  their  parts  in  the  drama  of  life  and  passed 
forever  from  the  scene.    No  test  of  the  truth  of  ideals  is  greater  than 


GRADUATION  DAY  143 

the  approval  of  mankind;  for  we  all  form  opinions  as  to  the  characters 
of  the  past,  and  when  we  read  the  ideals  of  the  master-mind,  his  con- 
ceptions come  to  us  like  a  revelation,  light  is  cast  upon  what  we  had 
searched  for  in  vain,  and  we  approve  of  the  interpretation  as  the  most 
probable  which  the  facts  can  justify.  The  novelist,  therefore,  is  an 
effective  teacher  of  history;  he  reveals  its  beauty  and  its  romance,  and 
inspires  it  with  life.  He  draws  the  swcrd  of  the  warrior,  and  fights 
again  on  the  battlefield.  He  fills  the  dull  eye  of  death  with  the  fire  of 
ardent  life,  and  sounds  the  clarion  of  war  in  the  ever  vital  world  of 
literature.  The  foremost  historical  novelist  cf  the  day,  according  to 
eminent  critics,  is  the  great  Polish  writer  Henryk  Sienkiewicz.  In  his 
novels  there  is  intense  reality,  a  comprehensive  knowledge  of  human 
nature.  The  character  of  Nero  is  an  acquisition  which  the  student  of 
history  can  never  too  fully  prize.  The  wonderful  description  of  the 
burning  of  Rome,  while  the  vile  monster  stood  by  playing  on  the  harp, 
and  seeking  inspiration  from  the  roaring  sea  of  flame  which  his  in- 
cendiary hand  had  enkindled,  is  an  imaginative  painting  which  will 
Know  the  glory  of  immortality.  One  of  the  foremost  American  his- 
torical novels  is  "Richard  Carvel."  American  statesmen,  sailors  and 
tOidiers  figure  prominently  in  this  book.  The  imagination  of  the  reader 
wanders  back  over  the  pathway  of  time  to  the  bloody  deck  cf  Paul 
Jones's  flagship,  and  pictures  the  sturdy  captain  snatching  victory  from 
the  very  jaws  of  death  and  defeat.  The  character  of  the  great  sailor, 
as  undei  stood  by  Winston  Churchill,  is  a  great  improvement  on  the 
stern  and  silent  personage  that  Fenimore  Cooper  has  pictured  in  "The 
Pilot." 

In  discussing  a  branch  of  literature  which  by  its  very  nature  is 
connected  wUh  the  past,  it  is  necessary  to  review  some  of  the  condi- 
tions which  united  in  forming  it.  The  ignorance,  marking  the  period 
before  the  invention  of  printing,  would  scarcely  be  credible  in  this  age 
of  enlightenment.  Men  who  could  read  and  write  were  honored  as 
scholars  of  rare  attrnments.  Any  adequate  knowledge  of  history  was, 
with  the  masses  ot  the  people,  an  impossibility.  Whatever  of  past 
events  was  i;ncwn,  was  so  intermingled  with  romantic  fiction  and  vague 
fancies  that  there  was  no  place  for  the  historical  novel,  since  its  ficti- 
tious and  truthful  components  could  not  have  been  distinguished.  A 
general  acquaintance  with  a  large  body  of  written  history  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  the  popularity  of  our  novel.  This  happy  condition 
exists  in  the  present  time.  The  deeds  of  our  fathers,  the  struggles  of 
the  early  pioneers,  the  stories  of  the  Revolution  and  the  Civil  War,  are 
fruitful  themes  which  possess  unlimited  possibilities.  What  could  be 
more  romantic  than  the  adventures  of  the  discoverer  of  America,  who, 
after  overcoming  untold  difficulties,  finally  crossed  the  wide  waste  of 
waters  and  entered  a  tropical  paradise  such  as  the  Old  World  had 
never  known?  What  could  afford  greater  scope  for  imagination  of  the 
historical  novelist  than  the  conquest  of  Mexico,  the  splendor  of  the 
regal  Montezumas,  the  overthrow  of  their  vast  empire,  and  the  intro- 
duction of  Spanish  influences  which  finally  paved  the  way  for  the  re- 
public which  to-day  flourishes  where  the  semibarbarous  Aztec  once 
held  sway?  Or,  if  he  turn  to  our  country,  he  may  behold  its  wondrous 
advance  among  the  nations.  All  our  history  is  alive  with  the  elements 
of  romance  and  adventure;  our  sailors  have  ever  triumphed  on  the  sea, 


144  WERNERS  READINGS  NO.  55 

and  our  soldiers  have  ever  borne  the  emblem  of  liberty  on  the  field  of 
battle  with  glory  to  final  victory. 

In  the  United  States  the  object  of  the  historical  novel  seems  to  be 
to  teach  us  the  stirring  history  of  our  native  land.  Its  object  seems 
to  be  to  remind  us  that  ours  is  a  living  history,  active  and  glorious; 
the  pictures  presented,  of  mighty  events,  of  gallant  achievements,  of 
intrepid  heroes  and  patriots  whose  names  will  ever  be  identified  with 
the  glory  of  the  American  Republic,  stir  a  chord  of  sympathy  in  the 
hearts  of  our  people,  teach  them  the  true  worth  of  the  founders  of  the 
republic,  and  inspire  them  to  love  that  free  government  which  the 
blood  of  our  forefathers  has  redeemed  for  us  to  enjoy  and  perpetuate 
forever.  The  stories  of  the  past,  teaching  the  children  of  the  republic 
the  true  ideals  to  be  imitated  and  loved,  and  kindling  anew  in  their 
hearts  the  pure  spirit  of  freedom,  are  to  be  fostered  and  commended, 
since  they  form  a  bulwark  against  the  sinister  spirit  of  conquest  and 
commercialism  which  is  beginning  to  poison  the  minds  and  pervert  the 
hearts  of  America's  sons.  Let  us,  then,  welcome  the  historical  novel, 
the  romantic  teacher  of  history;  let  us  center  our  hopes  in  its  rising 
glories,  and  let  our  wish  be  that  its  fortunes  shall  become  identified 
with  those  of  another  Walter  Scott,  under  whose  magic  touch  the  his- 
torical literature  of  the  future  will  surpass  the  powerful  productions 
of  that  "Wizard  of  the  North." 


COLLEGE  TRAINING  A  GREAT  HELP. 

(Graduation  Day  Address.) 


Daniel  Coit  Gilman. 


SKEPTICS  in  regard  to  higher  education  may  point  to  Shake- 
speare, with  his  little  Latin  and  less  Greek;  to  Franklin,  the 
philosopher  and  statesman,  with  his  homely  English  and  poor 
French;  to  Grote,  the  historian  of  Greece,  who  had  no  academic  life; 
to  Whittier,  Howells,  and  Cable,  our  own  gifted  contemporaries,  and 
to  many  more  writers  who  never  went  to  college;  and  I  confess  that 
such  examples  seem  at  first  to  show  that  colleges  are  not  essential  to 
literary  culture.  But  we  must  remember  that  our  institutions  are  not 
devised  for  an  oligarchy  of  intellect,  but  for  a  democracy;  not  for  a 
few  royal  dignitaries,  but  for  a  throng  of  faithful  workers.  In  a  recent 
biography  of  Spinoza  is  this  pithy  saying:  "The  secret  workings  of 
nature  which  bring  it  to  pass  that  an  iEschylus,  a  Leonardo,  a  Fara- 
day, a  Kant,  or  a  Spinoza  is  born  upon  earth,  are  as  obscure  now  as 
they  were  a  thousand  years  ago;"  and,  if  this  be  admitted,  surely  col- 
leges are  not  to  be  built  up  and  maintained  for  such  extraordinary 
phenomena.  We  call  these  men  gifted;  we  say  they  have  genius;  we 
except  them  from  rules.  They  will  win  renown  under  any  circum- 
stances, hindered  but  not  repressed  by  acting  parts  in  a  theater,  like 
Shakespeare;  or  setting  type  in  a  printing-house  like  Franklin;  or  man- 
aging a  bank  like  Grote;  or  learning  the  trade  of  a  bookbinder  like 
Faraday.  It  is  neither  for  the  genius  nor  for  the  dunce,  but  for  the 
great  middle  class  possessing  ordinary  talents,  that  we  build  colleges; 
and  it  can  be  proved  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  for  them  the 
opportunities  afforded  by  libraries,  teachers,  companionship,  and  the 


GRADUATION  DAY  145 

systematic  recurrence  of  intellectual  tasks,  are  most  efficient  means  of 
intellectual  culture.  Mental  discipline  may  indeed  be  acquired  in  other 
ways;  the  love  of  letters  is  not  implanted  by  a  college;  the  study  of 
nature  may  be  pursued  alone  in  the  open  air;  but,  given  to  each  one 
in  a  group  of  a  hundred  youths  a  certain  amount  of  talent,  more  than 
mediocrity  and  less  than  genius — that  is  to  say,  the  average  ability  of 
a  boy  in  our  high  schools  and  academies — it  will  be  found,  nine  cases 
out  of  ten,  that  those  who  go  to  college  surpass  the  others  during  the 
course  of  life,  in  influence,  in  learning,  in  power  to  do  good,  and  in 
enjoyment  of  books,  nature  and  art.  Mental  powers  may  be  developed 
in  other  places — the  mechanic's  institute,  the  mercantile  library,  the 
winter  lyceum,  the  private  study,  the  gatherings  of  good  men,  the 
haunts  of  business,  the  walks  of  civil  life, — but  not  so  easily,  nor  so 
systematically,  nor  so  thoroughly,  nor  so  auspiciously,  nor  so  pleas- 
antly. With  all  their  defects,  colleges  are  the  best  agencies  the  world 
has  ever  devised  for  training  the  intellectual  forces  of  youth. 

Gocd  colleges  give  training  in  the  arts  of  expression  as  well  as  in 
those  of  observation;  it  not  only  favors  acquisition  of  knowledge  by 
its  students,  but  it  shows  them  how  to  bring  forth  knowledge  for  the 
benefit  of  others.  This  function  of  a  college  has  not  always  been  suffi- 
ciently developed.  Learning  of  appointed  lessons,  memorizing  of  rules 
and  dates,  solution  of  problems,  observation  or  performance  of  experi- 
ments,— all  these  are  undoubtedly  gocd  discipline,  but  they  are  not 
enough.  The  scholar  should  be  able  to  express  himself  clearly,  neatly, 
and  fitly;  very  few,  indeed,  can  do  this  without  long  and  careful  prac- 
tice. I  have  talked  with  leading  publishers  of  American  books,  regard- 
ing manuscripts  submitted  to  them;  I  have  spoken  with  editors  of  the 
best  magazines,  and  from  both  sources  I  received  the  same  impression, 
— that  this  country  is  prolific  in  writers,  but  that  the  number  of  trained 
literary  men  who  can  write  well,  and  make  of  literature  a  profession, 
is  very  small.  While  there  are  many  eager  to  print  their  effusions, 
there  are  few  willing  to  elaborate  their  work, — re-writing,  re-arrang- 
ing, pruning,  condensing,  shaping  until  the  best  form  possible  is 
attained.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  writers  who  win  the  highest 
renown  are  commonly  hasty,  that  they  dash  off  what  they  say  by  a 
stroke  of  genius.  The  biography  of  Dickens  shows  what  pains  he  took 
to  secure  right  proper  names;  for  example,  note  his  choice  of  the  title 
"Household  Words."  His  proof-sheets  show  how  carefully  he  revised 
every  paragraph.  The  very  last  proofs  of  a  romance  of  Walter  Scott 
received  the  master's  final  touches  just  before  printing.  Bret  Harte's 
famous  "Heathen  Chinee"  was  corrected  and  recorrected,  and  on  the 
ultimate  revision  received  that  satirical  touch  which  gave  it  world-wide 
fame:  "We  are  ruined  by  Chinee  cheap  labor."  Emerson  is  considered 
by  many  as  a  sort  of  oracle,  simply  opening  his  mouth  to  let  fall  aphor- 
isms of  profound  importance,  but  authentic  narratives  of  his  life  show 
that  he  forged  his  sentences  like  the  gold-beater  preparing  a  setting 
for  pearls. 

You  may  think  it  trifling  to  speak  of  penmanship,  but  I  cannot 
refrain  from  telling  a  story  of  one  of  the  most  illustrious  mathemati- 
cians of  the  nineteenth  century,  whose  great  treatise  lay  unnoticed  for 
nearly  three  years  in  the  archives  of  the  French  Academy,  because,  as 
Legendre  himself  acknowledged,  it  was  almost  illegible,  being  written 


146  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

with  very  faint  ink  and  the  characters  being  badly  formed.  Rescued 
from  the  temporary  grave  to  which  its  bad  penmanship  had  consigned 
it,  this  treatise  became  the  point  of  departure  for  profound  researches. 
All  this  seems  to  me  to  indicate  that  training,  imposed  by  one's  self  or 
by  one's  teacher,  is  essential  to  literary  success.  Colleges  provide  such 
training. 


WOMAN'S  SPHERE  AND  MISSION. 

(Inaugural  Address  as  President  of  Oxford  College.) 


John  Hampden  Thomas. 


AS  I  stand  before  you,  this  audience  seems  to  extend  its  limits, 
and  a  shadowy  group  stretches  into  the  dim  past.  Some  of  my 
kinfolk  seem  to  be  here,  and  many  of  your  fathers  and  mothers, 
noble  men  and  women,  lovely  and  pleasant  in  their  lives,  many  now 
wearing  the  crown  of  a  blessed  immortality,  some  awaiting  their  sum- 
mons to  the  eternal  reward,  some  yet  bearing  the  heat  and  burden  of 
the  day.  I  am  putting  on  my  armor;  it  is  not  for  me  to  boast  of  what 
will  be  done  here.  Rather  would  I  gather,  if  I  might,  from  those  once 
students  in  college  halls  their  message  to  us.  Under  these  benign  in- 
fluences it  is  fitting  to  ask,  What  is  the  aim  of  college-life  for  young 
ladies?  The  time-honored  course  leading  to  a  degree  is  approved  by 
the  experience  of  many  generations  for  the  broad  culture  it  affords. 
Does  educational  progress  call  for  any  radical  change?  In  respect  to 
the  tools  used,  yes:  as  to  the  underlying  principles,  no. 

You,  young  ladies,  have  chosen  courses  best  fitted  to  develop  your 
gifts,  making  art  or,  it  may  be,  oratory,  science  or  language  your  major. 
This  is  well;  but  is  this  all?  Is  the  chief  value  of  college-life  to 
acquire  skill  in  some  department  of  art  or  knowledge?  To  do  this  has 
value,  but  mainly  to  give  you  self-mistery,  a  full  command  of  your 
talents.  The  studies  pursued  in  college  are  instruments  rather  than 
ends.    Self-reverence,  self-knowledge,  self-control, 

"These  three  alone  lead  life  to  sovereign  power." 

Education  is  not  to  pour  in,  but  to  draw  out;  its  end  not  to  fill  up  a 
reservoir,  but  to  set  free  and  flowing  a  fountain  of  life.  The  sailor 
fixes  his  gaze  on  high  and  discerns  the  pole-star  which  guides  his  jour- 
ney. As  I  reflected  on  the  lofty  aims  the  attainment  of  which  should 
govern  education,  the  words  of  the  Psalmist  came  to  my  mind: 

"Strength  and  beauty  are  in  His  holy  place." 

The  Hebrew  poet  was  an  idealist;  his  eyes  had  been  touched  by  the 
Lord;  the  golden  light  of  heaven  had  glorified  his  earthly  conceptions; 
his  soul  was  uplifted;  his  feet  rested  on  the  earth,  but  his  mind  soared 
into  the  chamber  of  the  most  High.  The  idealist  is  not  a  visionary. 
The  teacher  is  an  idealist.  On  him,  as  the  poet,  the  divine  light  has 
shone.  Who  can  calculate  the  influence  of  the  ideal,  and  when  have 
ideals  such  abiding  influence  as  in  youth?  A  college  for  young  ladies 
surely  should  be  their  temple.  "Hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star/'  is  Emer- 
son's advice.    Kingsley,  in  sweeter  language,  says: 


GRADUATION  DAY  147 

"Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever; 

Do  noble  things,  not  dreani  them,  all  day  long; 
And  so  make  life  and  death  and  all  that  vast  forever 

One   grand,    sweet    song." 

Strength  and  beauty, — are  not  these  the  crowning  graces  of  culti- 
vated womanhood?  Strength  is  the  product  of  culture;  it  is  the  real- 
ization of  nascent  power.  How  marvelous  the  bodily  organization! 
Men  have  been  taught  to  despise  the  body.  What  madness  to  do  so! 
The  new  education  wisely  lays  stress  on  physical  culture  as  the  con- 
dition of  the  highest  efficiency  of  the  mind  as  well  as  of  the  body. 
But  strength  is  an  attribute  of  mind  and  soul  also.  If  to  cultivate  the 
intellect  is  the  express  purpose  of  collegiate  studies,  the  curriculum  of 
a  college  must  be  stated  in  terms  of  the  intellect.  The  end  of  educa- 
tion should  lead  the  student  to  control  the  heart  and  to  train  the  will. 
To  cultivate  the  mind,  while  leaving  the  affections  to  increasing  corrup- 
tion, is  to  develop  the  heartless  villainy  of  such  a  man  as  Goethe's 
Faust.  Culture  and  depravity  are  combined  in  real  life  as  well  as  in 
the  works  of  imaginative  genius. 

A  woman's  heart,  what  power  of  attraction  it  possesses!  How  it 
has  swayed  the  destiny  of  empires?  True  culture  teaches  a  girl  to 
control  her  attachments  by  strength  of  purpose  and  to  bestow  her 
heart  only  upon  one  worthy  of  it.  The  lack  of  a  trained  will  dominat- 
ing the  affections  in  men  and  women  is  a  crying  evil  in  our  day,  blast- 
ing thousands  of  homes  and  leading  multitudes  to  everlasting  death. 
Now  strength  of  affection  and  of  will  is  attained  by  daily  exercise. 
Not  more  surely  does  the  brawn  of  the  blacksmith  increase  by  blow 
after  blow  of  hammer  on  anvil,  than  does  the  power  of  a  dominant  will 
exercised  in  daily  life.  Strength  surely  is  one  aim  in  education.  And 
beauty — who  is  not  thrall  to  beauty?  What  is  beauty?  Beauty  is- 
harmony;  it  is  petfectness;  it  is  the  fulfilment  of  ideal  standards  giving 
joy  to  the  beholder.  Beauty  is  symmetry;  and  beauty  of  character 
results  from  the  symmetrical  development  of  every  talent  and  grace. 
Reverence  is  an  element  in  beauty  of  character. 

<rLet    knowledge   grow   from    more    to    more, 

But  more   of   reverence   in   us   dwell; 

That   mind    and   soul   according   well 
May  make   one   music   as   before, 
But    vaster." 

In  this  20th  century  opportunity  stands  on  tiptoe  beckoning  eagerly 
to  women.  More  than  ever  strength  of  character  is  needed  to  refuse 
specious  but  misleading  projects;  sound  judgment  to  discriminate  be- 
tween pretended  and  true  progress;  wisdom  to  guide  tenderness  of 
heart  reaching  out  a  helping  hand  to  the  needy  ones  of  earth.  Individ- 
ualism is  the  mark  of  our  generation.  Canons  of  propriety  have  lost 
their  power.  The  voice  of  authority,  if  not  silent,  whispers  only  to  the 
wise.  Each  determines  for  herself  the  standard  of  ethics,  the  grounds 
for  faith,  the  pathway  in  life.  The  woman  of  education  should  be  able 
to  detect  sophistries  and  to  escape  misleading  notions.  False  lights 
are  set  up  in  frequented  channels  to  allure  the  unwary  to  destruction. 
One  sign  of  the  times  is  the  growth  of  women's  clubs.  Unless  these 
find  wise  leadership,  their  splendid  promise  will  go  into  eclipse,  if  they 
do  not  become  a  public  disaster.     The  mutual  relations  of  the  sexes, 


148  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

and  the  relation  of  women  to  public  affairs,  are  under  discussion  and 
readjustment.  The  attitude  of  women  will  be  dominant  in  settling 
these  questions  for  good  or  evil,  for  herself  and  for  her  children 

What  refined  pleasures  are  at  the  command  of  the  college-bred 
woman!  A  cultivated  taste  in  art  is  a  perpetual  joy.  And  music  may 
cheer  solitary  hours  while  equally  a  delightful  social  entertainment. 
The  culture  of  beauty  and  strength  means  the  development  of  the 
highest  elements  in  character.  And  character  building  is  the  great  aim 
of  life;  it  yields  the  only  wealth  that  cannot  be  lost  to  us.  A  perfect 
character,  then,  must  include  not  only  self-mastery,  but  self-denial; 
and  it  may  call  for  self-sacrifice.  These  are  the  elements  that  consti- 
tute the  glory  of  womanhood.  How  surpassingly  evident  is  the  call 
of  the  20th  century  for  the  ministry  of  woman.  No  doors  are  nbw 
closed  to  her  earnest  endeavor.  To  have  her  achievement  proclaimed 
by  the  trumpet  of  fame  is  alluring.  And  yet — and  yet,  what  true 
woman  will  not  look  upon  the  home  as  the  chosen  place  where  all  the 
strength  and  beauty  of  womanhood  will  forever  find  its  sweetest  ser- 
vice? All  service  is  not  confined  to  the  home  and  the  higher  educa- 
tion qualifies  women  for  many  lines  of  work.  But  the  interests  of 
family  life  must  be  served  and  not  be  sacrificed  by  the  enlarged  sphere 
of  woman's  usefulness.  The  solution  of  this  problem  is  the  work  of 
the  twentieth  century. 


STUDY  HARD,  PLAY  HARD. 

(Address  to  High  School  Boys.) 


Theodore  Roosevelt, 
(Former  President   of  the  United   States.) 


T  T  7"E  need  a  healthy  body;  we  need  to  have  proper  physical  devel- 
V/y  opment;  we  need  to  have,  even  more,  proper  development  of 
the  mind,  and  then,  we  need  to  have  proper  development  that 
counts  for  more  than  body  and  counts  for  more  than  mind,  the  sum 
of  the  characteristics,  the  sum  of  the  virtues  which  we  think  of  when 
we  say  that  such  and  such  a  man  or  woman  has  good  character — the 
development  of  character.  You  are  here  to  study,  and  while  here  to 
study  hard.  When  you  have  got  done  and  come  to  play  outside,  play 
hard.  Do  not  forget  this:  In  the  long  run,  the  man  who  shirks  his 
work,  will  shirk  his  play.  You  are  preparing  yourselves  for  the  big 
work  of  life.  In  after  life  I  earnestly  believe  in  each  of  you  having  as 
good  a  time  as  possible,  but  making  it  come  second  to  doing  the  best 
kind  of  work  possible.  In  your  studies,  as  in  your  sports,  here  in 
school  and  afterwards  in  life  in  doing  your  work  in  the  great  world,  it 
is  a  safe  plan  to  follow  this  rule,  a  rule  I  once  heard  preached  on  the 
football  field:  Don't  flinch;  don't  foul;  hit  the  line  hard. 


Thought  is  deeper  than  all  speech; 

Feeling  deeper  than  all  thought; 
Souls  to  souls  can  never  teach 

What  unto  themselves  was  taught 
— Christopher  F.  Cranch. 


GRADUATION  DAY  149 

SUGGESTIVE  GRADUATION  THESES  AND 
ORATIONS. 


"Life  of  Greeks  in  Homeric  Age." 

"Twentieth  Century  Production  and  Distribution." 

"Fall  of  Rome:    Its  Effect  upon  the  World's  History." 

"Relation  of  Life  Insurance  to  College." 

"Development  of    Literature  in    England   During   Great    Elizabethan 

Period." 
"Brief  Study  of  Diversions  of  Romans." 
"Investigation  of  a  Double-Track  Railroad." 
"Transportation  in  United  States  During  Nineteenth  Century." 
"Children   of   Our   Slums." 

"Character  of  Dutch  and  Flemish,  as  Revealed  in  Their  Art." 
"Anglo-Saxon  Poetry." 

"Proposed  Sewage  System  for  Borough  of  ." 

"Quakers  in  Ireland,  and  Their  Migration  to  Pennsylvania." 

"Chaucer's  Power  of  Description." 

"Minnesinger." 

"Historical  Sketch  of  Robin  Hood,  with  Brief  Study  in  Ballads." 

"Franz  von  Sickingen:    Political  Position  of  German  Nobles." 

"Trades  Unions:    Their  Growth  and  Influence." 

"Digestion  and  Diet." 

"Problem  of  Salvation  as  Solved  by  Milton  and  Goethe." 

ORATIONS. 

"Democracy." 

"Bismarck  and  German  Unity." 

"Expansion:    A  Republic  or  an  Empire?    The  Fate  of  the  Philippines. 
The  White  Man's  Right  to  Rule.     The  Consent  of  the  Governed." 
"Leadership  of  Educated  Men." 
"Characteristics  of  Our  Age." 
"Nineteenth  Century  the  New  Renaissance." 
"Heroes  of  Science." 
"Man  Is  What  He  Does." 
"Woman  and  the  Ballot-box." 
"King  and  the  Boss:    Political  Leaders." 

"Negro  and  the  Nation:    Burned  Alive  in  This  Year  of  Grace." 
"Fear  of  Poverty  an  Incentive  to  Excellence." 
"Abraham  Lincoln." 
"Dutchman  and  American  Liberties." 

"Trade  Follows  the  Flag.     Trade  Follows  the  Price  Current." 
"Universal  Peace.     Dream  of  the  White  Czar." 
"Monopolies." 


Truth  crushed  to  earth  shall  rise  again; 

The  eternal  years  of  God  are  hers; 
But  Error,  wounded,  writhes  with  pain 

And  dies  among  his  worshipers. 

— William  Cullen  Bryant. 


PART  VI. 
Valedictories 


"THIS  IS  THE  LAST  TIME. 

(Valedictory.) 


Eugene  Wood. 


MR.  PRESIDENT,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen:  In  nothing  does  man 
challenge  more  respect  than  in  the  expression  of  sorrow;  in 
nothing  is  there  struck  with  more  sonority  the  common  chord 
of  oneness  of  all  flesh.  We  may  give  over  seeking  the  philosopher's 
stone  that  changes  all  to  gold,  but  we  have  found  that  the  universal 
solvent  is  the  tear.  In  joy  and  in  merriment  there  is  no  real  kinship 
of  the  heart.  What  pleases  one  calls  forth  a  pitying  smile  from  others 
that  human  beings  should  be  found  so  childish  as  to  take  delight  in 
such  a  trivial  thing.  A  laugh  splits  all  the  structure  of  society  upon  its 
cleavage  planes.  But  the  tear  obliterates  all  party  lines.  It  dissolves 
distinctions  made  by  wealth,  position,  education,  and  leaves  only  the 
democracy  of  sympathy.  High  or  low,  rich  or  poor,  learned  or  un- 
learned, all  understand  the  mother  parted  from  her  only  son,  the  father 
from  his  daughter,  the  lover  whose  young  bride  is  wooed  and  won  by 
Death  with  his  cold  kiss.  All  understand  and  all  respect.  It  is  then 
that  men  grasp  hands  most  fervently.  The  firmest  friendship  rests 
on  sorrow,  not  on  joy. 

It  were  idle  to  pretend  that  to  leave  these  halls  of  learning  now 
conveys  to  us  a  shock  of  grief  as  great  as  if  the  news  had  come  that 
someone  near  and  dear  to  us  had  passed  away.  It  differs  in  degree, 
if  not  in  kind,  from  that.  The  essence  of  all  sorrow  is  bereavement. 
We  are  parted  from  the  things  we  love,  and,  therefore,  we  are  sad. 
Someone  has  said:  "There  is  nothing,  not  in  itself  absolutely  bad,  of 
which  one  can  say  without  emotion:  'This  is  the  last  time.'"  How 
much  the  more,  then,  should  there  be  to-day  a  gentle  pang,  a  somber- 
ness  of  spirit,  a  tender  deep  solemnity  (as  when  one  thinks  on  the 
higher,  nobler  things  of  life),  a  catch  at  the  heart,  perhaps  an  aching 
of  the  throat  and  a  mist  before  the  eyes  as  one  gazes  on  the  old, famil- 
iar buildings  and  the  green  campus,  or  into  the  faces  of  instructors, 
classmates,  friends,  and  whispers  to  himself:  "This  is  the  last  time." 

The  time  has  come  to  say  farewell  and  "In  that  word — that  fatal 
word — howe'er  we  promise — hope — believe — there  breathes  despair." 
It  is  in  vain  that  we  assure  ourselves  that  we  shall  meet  again;  that 
we  will  form  associations  of  alumni  and  at  recurring  commencements 
visit  once  more  the  old  spot.  It  will  never  be  the  same  to  us  again. 
We  know  it  in  our  heart  of  hearts,  and  so  in  the  few  golden  drops  of 
time  that  yet  remain  within  the  cup  of  college  life,  I  pledge  you, 
trustees,  president,  faculty,  fellow-collegians,  and  last  and  dearest  of 
all,  the  Class  of  . 

First  we  salute  you,  gentlemen  of  the  Board  of  Trustees:  "Hail 
and  farewell!"  Never  before  this  day  have  you  and  we  looked  each 
other  full  in  the  face,  each  knowing  who  and  what  the  other  was, — we 
the  Class  of ,  you  the  corporate  body  that  makes  this  institution 

(Werner's  Readings  No.   55 — page   150) 


GRADUATION  DAY  151 

what  it  is.  And  having  met,  we  part.  Hail  and  farewell!  But  ere  we 
pass  out  of  your  sight  and  hearing,  let  us  say  that  we  should  be  less 
than  men  if  there  were  not  within  our  hearts  one  wish  or  aspiration 
that  our  alma  mater  should  attain  a  yet  grander  future  than  even  you 
have  dreamed  for  her.    In  so  much  we  are  kinsmen.   Hail  and  farewell! 

Mr.  President:  The  narrowing  circle  of  our  college  life  has  brought 
us  nearer  to  you  year  by  year.  To-day — this  hour  is  most  centripetal 
cf  all,  and  ere  the  charmed  circle  breaks  there  is  just  room  to  say  that 
we  appreciate  to  the  full  what  you  have  done  for  us.  Whatever  in  us 
won  your  disapproval  was  what  you  deemed  not  for  our  final  good; 
whatever  in  us  won  your  praise  was  what  you  saw  would  make  us 
large  and  noble  characters.  If  in  our  grave  and  serious  moments  we 
have  longed  to  clamber  to  a  lofty  plane,  we  may  be  sure  your  heart 
beat  with  us  in  that  high  resolve.  If  we  achieve  what  you  desire  for 
us,  we  shall  indeed  succeed,  not  as  the  unthinking  world  records  suc- 
cess and  gauges  it  by  money  or  by  fame,  but  in  that  nobleness  of  char- 
acter, that  largeness  of  the  brain  and  the  heart,  that  steadiness  of  will 
and  conquest  of  the  lower  self  that  mark  the  perfect  man. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Faculty:  With  to-day  ends  that  intimate  rela- 
tionship which,  through  the  years  of  college  life,  has  been  maintained, 
but  not,  we  trust,  that  deep,  respectful  friendship  that  could  not  choose 
but  come  from  long  acquaintance  with  men  of  your  learning  and  seri- 
ous purpose.  And  yet,  though  your  purpose  was  serious,  or  perhaps 
because  it  was  so  serious,  when  we  look  back  upon  the  hours  we  have 
spent  together,  we  recall  moments  of  light-hearted  gaiety  and  the  smile 
comes  to  our  lips.  In  the  years  that  are  to  come,  we  shall  think  kindly 
of  each  other  and  begin  our  reminiscences:  "My  old  professor  used  to 
say — "  and  you:  "There  was  a  fellow  in  the  Class  of  — — ."  Good- 
bye, God  bless  you.  You  have  been  good  to  us,  better  than  we  have 
deserved. 

Undergraduates  of  the  College:  A  slender  dagger  of  regret  pierces 
the  heart,  when  the  thought  enters,  that  after  we  are  gone  from  here, 
no  one  will  miss  us.  "The  king  is  dead!  Long  live  the  king!"  You 
will  take  our  places  and  the  revolving  year  will  still  bring  other  stu- 
dents, after  you  are  gone.  It  is  like  the  world  in  little.  We  are  but 
tenants,  not  the  landlords  of  the  universe.  Though  it  seems  the  moon 
obsequiously  follows  us  whichever  way  we  choose  to  walk,  and  though 
our  footing  is  on  the  exact  center  of  the  horizon's  ring,  yet  we  knew 
the  moon  also  followed  primeval  man,  and  the  spot  where  he  sat 
flaking  his  flint  arrrowheads,  was  to  him  the  exact  center  of  the  hori- 
zon's ring.  When  we  are  as  dead  and  forgotten  as  he,  when  the  few 
broken  shards  remaining  from  our  age  are  shelved  and  ticketed  in  mu- 
seums, as  we  preserve  the  flinty  tools  with  which  he  toiled,  the  moon 
will  still  follow  the  man  and  the  blue  circle  of  heaven  struck  with  one 
compass-point  centering  in  him. 

"When  you  and  I  behind  the   veil  are  past, 
Oh,  but  the  long,  long  while  the  world  shall  last!" 

Fellow-Classmates:  Truly  of  our  meeting  here  we  may  say:  "This 
is  the  last  time."  Though  it  should  chance  by  some  event  miraculous 
that  on  another  Commencement  Day,  we  should  be  present  and  answer 
to  the  roll-call  without  one  missing  in  the  list,  we  should  not  be  the 


152  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Class  of save  in  the  name.  Something  would  be  lacking,  some- 
thing gone.  The  old  bond  of  unity  breaks  this  hour  and  when  we  take 
each  other  by  the  hand  and  look  into  each  other's  eyes,  we  know  that 

as  the  Class  of we  part  forever.     We  go  our  ways.    If  some  of 

us  should  meet  again,  the  light  that  shines  upon  the  meeting  will  be 
so  brief  and  so  illusory  that  "  'twere  like  the  lightning  that  is  gone  ere 
one  can  say:  'It  lightens.'"  It  is  the  last  time.  If  there  lurk  in  any 
heart  an  ancient  grudge  against  a  classmate,  a  jealousy,  a  root  of  bit- 
terness, oh,  pluck  it  out  and  cast  it  far  away.  And  let  us  take  each 
other  by  the  hand,  forgiving  as  we  hope  to  be  forgiven,  and  remember- 
ing that 

This  Is   the  last  Time. 


AMERICANISM. 

(Valedictory.) 


M.  Dell  Adams. 


WHAT  is  Americanism?  Briefly  answered,  Americanism  embraces 
the  essential  characteristics  of  the  American  people.  But  the 
questions  follow:  What  are  these  essential  characteristics? 
What  does  America  stand  for  among  the  nations  of  the  earth?  The 
answer  to  these  questions  is  found  in  an  understanding  of  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  our  government.  These  are  life,  liberty,  and  the 
pursuit  of  happiness.  These  principles  were  implanted  by  our  fore- 
fathers. When  oppressed  by  the  rule  of  George  III.,  they  threw  off  the 
yoke  and  declared  themselves  independent,  they  inserted  in  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence  these  words,  "We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self- 
evident:  that  all  men  are  created  free  and  equal:  that  they  are  endowed 
by  their  Creator  with  certain  unalienable  rights;  that  among  these  are 
life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness."  The  fathers,  not  having 
been  always  blessed  with  these  rights  themselves,  resolved  that  their 
children,  and  their  children's  children,  should  never  want  them.  And 
America  has  been  true  to  the  promise  she  made  to  her  children,  for 
with  these  principles  ever  in  view  Americanism  has  become  what  it  is 
to-day.  How  much  meaning  is  there  in  these  principles  of  life,  and 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness?  Life:  what  will  not  a  man  give 
for  his  life?  Life  is  a  possession  supremely  sweet  and  dear.  A  man 
will  hold  to  his  worldly  possessions  with  a  tenacious  grasp,  but  these  he 
will  unhesitatingly  yield  when  life  is  at  stake.  Life  is  not  only  a 
blessing,  but  it  is  a  rightful  possession.  The  crime  for  which  the  great- 
est punishment  is  inflicted  is  the  crime  of  taking  life.  Americanism 
not  only  recognizes  the  right  of  man  to  live,  but  it  aims  to  make  life 
worth  living  by  giving  him  the  boon  of  liberty.  Liberty  means  even 
more  than  life  itself;  for  life  without  liberty  is  void  of  pleasure  or  hap- 
piness. Life  is  dear  and  living  is  sweet,  but  even  life  itself  will  be 
given,  and  willingly,  too,  for  the  maintenance  of  liberty.  Americanism 
enunciates  the  principle  that  all  men  are  created  free  and  equal.  The 
history  of  our  country  is  but  a  development  of  that  principle.  More 
than  a  million  lives  have  been  given,  more  than  a  million  noble  careers 
have  been  stopped  before  fairly  begun,  more  than  a  million  homes 
have  been  saddened,  that  liberty  might  be  won  and  preserved  to  man- 


GRADUATION  DAY  153 

kind.  The  tree  of  liberty  was  indigenous  in  America — its  native  land— 
and  is  older  than  the  nation,  since  it  first  sprang  up  in  the  hearts  of  the 
nation's  founders. 

The  pursuit  of  happiness  does  not  mean  merely  a  search  for  pleas- 
ure, or  a  life  with  only  pleasure  for  its  object.  But  a  man  is  happiest 
when  following  his  own  inclinations.  We  each  have  the  right  of  exer- 
cising our  own  powers  and  receiving  in  compensation  what  we  are 
capable  of  producing.  Here  is  a  man  whose  whole  soul  is  wrapped  up 
in  art;  another  is  absorbed  in  music;  some  prefer  a  mercantile,  others 
an  agricultural  life.  But  whether  it  be  music,  or  art,  or  authorship,  or 
agriculture,  each  citizen  of  America  may  exercise  his  right  of  selecting 
his  vocation.  He  has  the  right  to  accomplish  all  in  any  particular  line 
which  his  aptitude  suggests.  America  allows  every  man  to  pursue  the 
course  he  desires.  Our  country  is  large,  our  resources  are  great;  there 
is  a  wide  field  in  which  to  work,  and  a  just  recognition  of  every  man's 
industrial,  social,  political,  and  religious  rights.  America  is  therefore, 
as  Emerson  says,  another  word  for  opportunity.  Here  every  advan- 
tage for  the  pursuit  of  happiness  is  open.  America  does  not  limit  the 
principles  of  life  and  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  to  the  people 
living  within  her  borders.  Americanism  must  teach,  and  is  continually 
teaching  its  lessons  to  the  enlightened  nations  of  the  earth.  Every 
nation  recognizes  the  characteristics  of  the  American  people,  the  pecu- 
liar traits  which  signalize  the  American  nation.  Americanism  steers 
widely  from  selfishness.  The  principles  of  our  national  life  are  not  re- 
served for  Americans  alone.  America  fosters  tenderly  her  own  sons 
and  daughters,  but  also  extends  her  hand  to  help  the  oppressed  of 
every  nation.  She  has  reached  across  the  water  which  lies  between 
our  own  beautiful  land  and  the  island  of  Cuba,  and  rendered  assistance 
to  the  struggling  and  starving  people;  she  has  broken  the  oppressor's 
rod  in  Hawaii,  and  in  the  Philippines.  Brave  hearts  of  her  loyal  sons 
have  ceased  beating,  it  is  true;  once  happy  homes  in  the  North  and  in 
the  South,  in  the  East  and  in  the  West,  have  been  darkened  with  sad- 
ness. Gallant  boys  who  left  home  in  bright  uniforms  have  come  back 
wrapped  in  the  flag  and  in  the  icy  sheet  of  death.  All,  these  sacrifices 
have  been  cheerfully  made  that  the  principles  which  underlie  our  na- 
tion, and  vouchsafe  our  freedom  and  protection,  might  be  given  to 
people  of  other  lands.  It  is  this  willingness  to  help  a  downtrodden 
people,  this  firm  adherence  to  God  and  the  right  which  other  nations 
must  recognize  in  Americans  as  Americanism.  It  was  Americanism 
that  stained  the  heights  at  San  Juan  and  braved  the  fires  at  Santiago. 
It  was  Americanism  that  bid  defiance  to  death  and  danger  from  Span- 
ish shells  and  the  dread  diseases  which  lurk  in  the  low  lands  of  the 
islands.  It  is  Americanism  that  stands  ready  to-day  not  only  to  teach 
but  to  practise  every  principle  set  forth  in  the  glorious  Declaration  of 
Independence.  Americanism,  therefore,  guarantees  to  the  race  cf  man? 
(1)  The  right  to  live;  (2)  The  boon  of  liberty;  (3)  The  pursuit  of  hap- 
piness. With  these  truths  so  plainly  evident,  we  are  proud  to  say  that 
we  are  Americans.  There  is  no  grander  title  than  that  of  American 
citizen.  Ours  is  a  country  known  over  the  whole  earth  as  the  "land 
of  the  free  and  home  of  the  brave."  The  nation,  in  the  language  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,  "conceived  in  liberty  and  dedicated  to  the  proposi- 
tion that  all  men  are  created  free  and  equal." 


154  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Friends  and  classmates,  it  devolves  upon  me  to  say  a  few  words 
of  farewell.    We're 

"Standing  with  reluctant  feet 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet." 

Ready  to  step  from  school  into  the  busy  world,  we  hesitate.  We  might 
hold  to  the  past  were  it  possible,  but  life's  ceaseless  round  of  changes 
has  carried  us  to  the  place  when  the  brook  of  school-life  meets  the 
vast  river  of  an  enlarged  human  experience,  whose  current  is  moving 
steadily  and  surely  into  the  great  future.  At  this  place  we  must  re- 
luctantly say  farewell  to  the  happy  days  spent  midst  these  pleasant 
surroundings;  we  must  leave  the  halls  of  learning  which  have  sheltered 
us  in  the  years  that  are  past;  we  must  bid  adieu  to  the  familiar  places 
so  full  of  memories;  adieu  to  the  friends  we  have  met  and  learned  to 
lcve;  to  the  teachers  who  have  carefully  guided  us  through  the  years 
now  receding  into  the  irrecoverable;  to  those  who  have  been  ever  kind 
and  patient  and  true;  and,  hardest  of  all,  to  say  farewell  to  classmates 
with  whom  we  have  been  so  happily  associated.  At  such  a  time  as 
this  words  are  but  vague  expressions  of  the  inner  thoughts.  Words 
cannot  describe  the  emotions  at  this  time,  the  tender  feelings  of  re- 
gard for  the  school,  the  teachers  and  friends,  the  regrets  with  which 
we  say  our  last  farewells.  Our  friends,  we  bid  you  a  loving  good-bye; 
teachers,  a  fond  farewell;  but,  classmates,  those  forms  do  not  convey  a 
full  meaning.  We  cannot  say  farewell.  Let  us  only  say,  "May  we 
meet  again!" 

LEARNING,  HEALTH,  SANCTITY. 

(Valedictory.) 


Ambrose  P.  Dunnigan. 


IT  is  now  my  sad  duty  to  bid  farewell  to  alma  mater.  When  I  look 
around  and  behold  these  venerable  elms,  whose  protecting 
branches,  if  they  could  but  speak,  would  many  a  tale  unfold  of 
happy  by-gone  days,  of  untold  joys  and  pleasures;  when  I  behold  these 
vine-clad  walls,  and  the  faces  of  those  dear  friends  who  made  our  life 
within  them  so  happy;  when  I  recall, — 

"Familiar  walks  and  halls  and  haunts  and  songs; 
The   shouts   that   told   of    Fordham's   victory, 
When  old   'Maroon'   triumphantly  came  home; 
The  nights  when   'sock  and  buskin'  ruled  the  hour, 
And   friendly   plaudits   sweetened   the   success," 

I  confess  that  my  heart  grows  faint  and  my  lips  falter  in  their  utter- 
ance. You,  my  dear  friends,  cannot  realize  what  to-day  means  for  us. 
It  is  like  the  rude  awakening  from  a  long,  sweet  dream  to  the  grim 
realities  of  life.  It  is  the  commencement  of  all  those  trials  and  troubles 
of  the  world,  of  which  many  of  you  who  are  gathered  here  to-day  have 
had  your  share.  It  is  the  parting  from  a  quiet  and  secure  home  that 
we  have  learned  to  love  with  all  the  fervor  of  our  hearts,  the  leave- 
taking  of  a  fond,  fond  mother.  It  means  that  we  are  to  experience  no 
more  the  kind  protection  of  our  alma  mater;  to  associate  no  more  our 
interests,  as  students,  with  hers;  to  depart'  once  and  forever  from  the 
sweet  friendships  of  our  college  days.    Ah!  graduation  is  not  all  happi- 


GRADUATION  DAY  155 

ness!  Fellow-classmates,  do  you  comprehend  the  meaning  of  the 
words?  Do  you  understand  that  to-day,  before  the  sun  sets  behind 
yonder  hill,  we  must  say  farewell  to  the  past,  and  welcome  to  the 
future?  We  must  say  farewell  to  her  who  has  tenderly  nourished  in 
us  the  seeds  of  learning, — yea,  who  gave  to  us  those  three  great  gifts, 
learning,  health,  and  sanctity. 

"And  never  was  wealth  like  learning's   treasure, 
Never  was  joy  like  health's  sweet  pleasure, 
Never   was   song   like   sanctity's  measure, — 
Priceless  gifts   of  the   Trinity." 

Yes,  fellow-classmates,  we  must  leave  her  who  has  been  so  kind 
to  us.  She  bids  us  forth  into  the  world,  there  to  work  for  her  future 
fame  and  glory.  Yes!  dear  alma  mater,  we  go,  but  our  prayer  on  leav- 
ing is  that  the  good  God,  who  holds  in  His  hands  the  slender  thread 
of  our  future  lives,  will  be  as  kind  to  you  in  the  future  as  He  has  been 
to  you  in  the  past,  that  He  will  bless  you  and  continue  to  lead  you 
on  to  the  highest  plane  of  educational  excellence. 

Ah!  Reverend  Father  Rector,  and  members  of  the  faculty,  a  bond 
most  dear  and  tender  must  be  broken  when  we  say  good-bye  to  you. 
You  have  indeed  been  parents  and  true  friends  to  us.  Your  devotion 
and  interest  in  our  behalf  will  never  be  forgotten.  Your  many,  many 
deeds  of  kindness,  coupled  with  the  great  and  noble  example  cf  your 
lives,  have  left  a  lasting  impression  on  our  memories,  and  I  make  no 
empty  boast  when  I  declare  to  you  that  the  Class  of have  recog- 
nized and  loved  your  generous  and  whole-hearted  labors  in  our  behalf. 
I  make  no  vain  promise  when  I  assert  that  in  our  lives  outside  these 
vine-clad  walls  of  old  "St.  John's"  we  shall  try  to  show  you  that  we  are 
what  you  have  so  earnestly  endeavored  to  make  us, — true  Catholic 
young  men,  men  of  upright  character  and  sound  principles,  men  who 
are,  and  will  ever  be,  proud  of  their  training,  a  training  which  is  a 
development  not  only  of  the  mind,  but  essentially  of  the  will  and  the 
moral  faculties  of  man.  Yes,  Reverend  Professors  and  Prefects,  it  will 
be  our  earnest  and  constant  endeavor  to  live  up  to  that  training  which 
you  have  given  us.  All  we  ask  in  return  is  a  fond  remembrance  in  your 
prayers,  that  the  ship  we  embark  on  to-day  may  be  safely  guided 
through  the  narrow  straits  and  dark  waters  of  life's  great  ocean,  untiJ 
it  rests  in  the  safe  harbor  of  Eternal  Light. 

Now,  fellow-classmates,  comes  the  hardest  task  of  all.  We  too 
must  part.  Happily,  indeed,  have  we  thus  far  wended  our  ways  to- 
gether, and  now  sadly  we  stand  at  the  crossroads  of  life,  cheering  each 
other  on  for  the  long  and  tiresome  journey.  Yet  it  is  a  sad,  sad 
thought  that  we  no  more  can  show  that  helpful  comradeship  in  the 
pursuit  of  knowledge,  no  more  can  show  that  brave  endeavor  which 
won  our  victories  in  the  class  and  on  the  field.  No  mere  shall  we  ex- 
perience the  joy  of  assembling  round  the  hearthstone  of  good-fellow- 
ship and  there, 

"Touch  the  changes  of  the  State 
Or   thread    some   Socratic    dream." 

No!  we  must  part;  we  must  bid  each  other  a  sad  good-bye,  until 

"We  wake  from  earth's  vain  dreaming 
And    behold   God's   light   a-streaming 
On  the   great  Commencement  Day." 


156  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

MEMORY  AND  HOPE:    TWO  GREAT  FORCES. 

(Valedictory.) 


TO  you,  sir,  President  of  this  College,  our  first  words  of  parting 
are  due.  Our  association  with  you,  as  instructor  and  students, 
has  been  confined  to  this  year;  but,  short  as  it  has  been,  it  has 
been  long  enough  to  teach  us  to  regard  you  with  respect  as  a  scholar, 
and  with  affection  as  a  Christian  gentleman.  We  thank  you  for  the 
benefits  derived  from  your  teaching,  for  your  uniform  gentlemanly 
courtesy,  for  your  interest  in  us  and  for  your  kind  wishes  for  our  future 
welfare.  We  express  the  hope  that  you  may  long  be  spared  in  full 
strength  to  direct  the  affairs  of  our  alma  mater.     In  the  name  of  the 

Class  of ,  I  bid  you  farewell. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Faculty:  The  time  has  come  for  us  to  take  leave 
of  you.  As  we  address  you,  we  cannot  refrain  from  expressing  the 
deep  sense  of  obligation  which  rests  on  us.  We  have  spent  four  im- 
portant years  of  our  lives  under  your  care.  Under  your  direction  we 
have  received  the  training  that  forms  a  large  part  of  the  equipment  for 
life.  We  appreciate,  in  some  measure,  how  much  the  value  of  what  we 
have  received  has  depended  on  your  care  and  faithfulness.  This  is  no 
time  for  personal  tribute;  but  we  may  assure  you  that  we  have  passed 
through  this  course  with  growing  respect  for  your  scholarship,  with 
deepening  conviction  that  each  department  is  presided  over  by  one 
worthy  to  represent  its  higher  life  and  culture.  Let  me  assure  you, 
also,  that  we  leave  you  with  the  firm  purpose  to  live  so  as  to  add  new 
honor  to  her  name.  And  now,  in  the  name  of  my  class,  whose  repre- 
sentative I  am  proud  to  be,  I  bid  you  farewell,  with  the  hope  that  your 
memory  of  us  may  be  as  pleasant  as  ours  shall  always  be  of  you. 

To  you,  my  classmates,  the  final  words  of  farewell  must  be  ad- 
dressed. To-day  our  minds  are  under  the  spell  of  two  great  forces — 
memory  and  hope — of  memory,  as  we  look  back  over  the  years  now 
ended,  which  have  given  us  a  part  in  student  life  that  is  like  no  other 
years;  of  hope,  as  each  one  of  us  stands  questioning  his  own  future 
which  is  like  the  future  of  other  classmates  in  nothing  save  its  unan- 
swering  inscrutability.  Many  have  objected  to  our  English  phrase, 
"good-bye,"  on  the  ground  that  it  is  too  hopeless;  but,  after  all,  it  is 
the  most  appropriate  word,  for  in  a  deep  sense  our  parting  is  real  and 
final.  We  met  yesterday  for  the  last  time  as  undergraduates;  to-day 
we  meet  for  the  last  time  as  college  students.  From  this  day  on,  we 
occupy  a  different  position  and  live  a  different  life.  Difference  of 
thought  and  opinion,  now  lying  on  the  outer  edges  of  our  lives  and 
separating  us  but  slightly,  will  divide  us  more  and  more  deeply;  and, 
as  time  passes,  the  years  of  separation  will  flow  between  us  as  an  ever- 
widening  flood,  spanned  only  by  a  common  memory  and  a  mutual  re- 
gard. But  whether  or  not  we  are  saying  good-bye  to  each  other,  we 
are  saying  good-bye  to  the  old  college  days.  They,  at  least,  will  never 
come  back.  We  have  promised  ourselves  a  reunion  and  look  forward 
to  it  with  hope  of  renewing  the  college  memories  and  awakening  the 
old  college  spirit;  but  we  well  know  that  they  will  not  be  the  same,  for 
Memory,  when  she  comes,  comes  "sad-eyed  with  folded  annals  of  our 
youth."    Such  attempts  remind  us  of  Scott's  minstrel,  who  endeavored, 


GRADUATION  DAY  157 

in  the  presence  of  his  chieftain's  daughter,  to  wake  his  harp  to  the  old 
notes  of  triumph  and  defiance,  but  mingled  with  them  wailed  a  lament 
for  an  age  whose  glory  had  departed.  So  I  prefer  the  unadorned  Eng- 
lish phrase,  which  makes  no  delusive  promises,  but  contains  pleasant 
memories  of  a  past  spent  together  and  kind  wishes  for  a  future  to  be 
spent  apart. 

And  now.  with  what  wish  may  we  express  the  highest  evidence  of 
the  friendship  and  interest  we  feel  for  each  other?  Shall  we  desire 
unbroken  success  and  immunity  from  sorrow?  We  might;  but  it  would 
be  a  vain  and  foolish  wish.  We  are  to  live  in  the  world  and  among 
men.  We  may  be  sure  that  somewhere  across  our  path  lies  the  inev- 
itable shadow.  But  what  does  it  matter?  This  does  not  make  life 
ignoble.  The  responsibilities  and  opportunities  of  these  four  years 
have  passed  by  forever;  but  the  issue  of  the  future,  for  honor  or  for 
shame,  rests  in  no  accidents  of  position  or  circumstances,  but  in  our 
own  hands.  The  man  with  high  aim  and  firm  purpose,  with  unselfish 
ambition,  and  longing  for  the  ideal,  knows  no  failure  or  defeat.  For 
him  and  for  him  alone,  all  the  experiences  of  life  combine  to  pave  the 
way  to  further  achievement.  I  can  wish  nothing  higher  or  happier  for 
us  than  that  through  our  lives,  in  joy  and  sorrow,  in  brightest  sunshine 
and  deepest  shadow,  there  may  remain  with  us  the  consciousness  of 
duty  well  performed,  of  suffering  nobly  endured,  all  of  life  faithfully 
lived.  In  the  hope  of  such  a  future,  with  many  pleasant  memories  of 
our  fellowship  and  with  the  assurance  of  an  unfailing  affectionate  re- 
membrance, I  bid  you  all  good-bye. 


COLLEGE-LIFE  REVEALS  REAL  CHARACTER. 

(Valedictory.) 


GENTLEMEN  of  the  Board  of  Trustees:  We  meet  you  with  our 
greeting  and  with  our  farewell.  Greeting  the  more  warm  be- 
cause in  this  hour,  when  college  seems  most  grand  and  dear  to 
us,  we  first  meet  the  silent  men  who  have  founded  and  fostered  her 
greatness.  In  every  one  of  those  years  you  have  been  hearing  the  good- 
bye from  boys  who,  for  four  years,  had  plucked  the  fruits  of  your  fath- 
erly labors  and  forethought.  They  lived  their  happy  college-life.  They 
stood  before  you  a  brief  moment,  and  then  went  away  over  the  wide, 
wide  world.  So  we  come  before  you  to-day,  a  band  of  brothers  who 
are  to  separate.  May  we  have  your  blessing?  You  will  have  our  living 
remembrance.  College-boys  may  seem  reckless,  thoughtless  of  the 
sources  of  their  good  things,  but  beneath  their  surface  gayety,  as  has 
often  been  said,  they  are  the  most  earnest  of  men.  Many  a  time  the 
young  engineer,  musing  beside  his  transit  on  the  grassy  terrace,  the 
young  toiler  at  Cicero  or  calculus,  has  been  moved  to  higher  effort  by 
remembering  that  all  about  him  were  monuments  of  vour  generous 
planning.  You  have  personified  yourselves  in  all  the  influences  thrown 
about  us  here,  and  our  cheers  and  our  loyalty  to  alma  mater  are  largely 
cheers  and  loyalty  to  what  you  have  done  and  are  doing.  With  loving 
appreciation  of  your  kindness,  farewell. 

Mr.  President:  You- have  taught  us  the  lessons  of  a  life  devoted 
to  noble  purpose,  allowing  nothing  to  prevent  its  fulfilment.  Perhaps 
the  most  helpful  study  for  man  is  the  study  of  individual  lives,  both 


158  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

in  their  failures  and  in  their  successes.  There  it  is  that  we  find  the 
great  lessons  of  inspiration  and  of  warning.  In  these  years,  during 
which  we  have  looked  on  the  actual  process  of  building  a  strong  and 
useful  life,  you  have  been  helping  to  kindle  aspirations  which  may  move 
the  world  forward  farther  than  you  have  ever  dreamed.  We  appreciate 
your  kindly  interest  in  our  welfare;  we  leave  you  with  sincere  regret. 
Farewell ! 

Gentlemen  of  the  Faculty:  Professors  at  whose  feet  we  have  so 
often  sat,  whose  patience  we  have  so  often  tried,  whose  best-laid  plans 
we  have  often  foiled  by  heedlessness,  yet  whose  labors  have  been  im- 
pressing powerful  influences  on  our  lives — how  can  we  voice  our  fare- 
well to  you?  There  has  been  the  silent  good-bye  for  many  of  you  as 
we  were  together  for  the  last  time  in  your  class-room.  In  those  last 
hours  the  commonplaces  of  question  and  answer,  the  quaint  situations, 
the  familiar  twinkle  of  the  eye,  the  handling  of  the  name-slips,  the  en- 
dearing peculiarity  of  accent — all  have  had  strange  fascination  for  us. 
We  dwelt  on  them  as  on  the  trinkets  of  a  departed  friend.  As  we 
turned  away  never  more  to  be  called  up,  never  more  to  listen,  to  laugh, 
to  think  with  you  and  the  boys,  the  good-bye  which  we  voice  to  you 
now,  went  then  from  heart  to  heart.  We  thank  you  for  the  sacrifices 
you  have  made  for  us,  for  the  life-labor  you  have  embodied  in  your 
teaching.  We  cannot  repay  you;  promises  are  empty  forms;  but  we 
trust,  we  know,  that  our  lives,  that  every  one  of  our  lives  will  be  cen- 
ters of  greater  influences  for  good,  for  having  sat  at  your  feet.  Good- 
bye! 

Fellows  of  the  Undergraduate  Classes:  To-day  we  leave  you.  We 
leave  the  old  college  in  your  care.  You  are  to  walk  these  halls  and 
paths  after  we  have  wandered  away.  You  will  still  make  these  groves 
and  buildings  ring  with  the  cheers  in  which  our  voices  have  so  often 
joined.  You  are  to  have  the  many  little  incidents,  the  quaint  experi- 
ences, in  class-room  and  campus,  such  as  we  have  had.  These  things 
make  us  the  more  interested  in  you.  We  don't  expect  to  be  long  re- 
membered by  each  of  you.  Our  places  will  be  taken.  But  we  are  glad 
that  we  leave  here  strong-hearted,  manly  boys  who  love  their  college 
and  will  stand  up  stoutly  for  her  when  we  have  gone.  We  are  glad 
that  we  leave  men  who  will  still  appreciate  the  work  of  these,  our 
much-loved  professors.  In  the  next  two  or  three  years,  as  one  and 
another  of  us  may  straggle  back  to  this  old  home,  it  will  be  cheering  to 
find  some  of  these  familiar  faces.  But  we  shall  be  lonely  many  times 
when  we  think  of  the  brotherly  companionship  had  here  with  you.  For 
most  of  you,  for  most  of  us,  this  is  our  farewell  forever.     Good-bye! 

Classmates:  We  stand  together  for  the  last  time.  Our  farewell 
must  be  spoken.  We  knew  this  must  come;  yet  "good-bye"  seems  such 
a  strange  word.  We  have  been  trying  to  say  it  during  these  last  days; 
we  have  tried  to  accustom  ourselves  to  the  thoughts  of  parting  so  that 
this  last  hour  might  be  less  sad.  We  thought  we  had  done  it  partly. 
The  end  has  come,  but  "good-bye"  has  not  been  said.  We  are  nearer 
together  than  ever  before.  Somehow,  everything  in  college-life  tends 
to  make  classmates  love  one  another.  We  haven't  been  perfect  fel- 
lows. We  have  manifested  traits  that,  out  in  the  world,  might  have 
kept  us  apart;  but  together  here,  day  by  day,  as  weeks  and  months  and 
years  went  by,  as  the  conventionalities  of  living  were  thrown  aside  and 


GRADUATION  DAY  159 

we  came  into  touch  with  different  sides  of  each  fellow's  nature,  we 
found  manliness,  and  earnestness,  and  reality,  when  the  world  with  its 
colder  gaze  would  see  nothing  but  sham.  Even  our  petty  disagree- 
ments have  brought  out  the  generous  and  frank  side  of  natures;  we 
have  been  drawn  together  until  we  seem  parts  of  the  others'  lives.  Our 
little  band  has  strolled  along  a  pleasant  way  together,  learning  as  we 
strolled.  We  have  had  time  to  listen  to  the  singing  of  birds,  to  pluck  a 
flcwer  here  and  there,  to  loiter  a  little  with  jest  and  banter  and  song. 
Oh!  yes,  there  were  sorrows,  sometimes;  but  there  were  cheering 
words  to  make  us  forget  them.  We  have  wandered  along  in  this  care- 
less, happy  way  so  many  years  that  we  almost  forgot  the  forking  of 
the  road.  We  forgot  that  the  road  did  not  run  clear  through.  To-day 
we  have  reached  a  dell  where  the  road  stops,  where  the  scenery  ap- 
pears strange,  where  there  is  no  way  to  go  on  but  by  little  narrow 
footpaths  that  wind  over  hills  and  up  valleys — some  bright,  some  dark, 
but  all  lonely,  so  far  as  we  can  see.  Each  of  us  must  take  his  path 
alcne,  and  push  en  his  own  journey  till  death,  sooner  or  later,  over- 
takes him.  Some  of  the  paths  lead  at  once  into  thick  forest,  some 
familiar  faces  will  be  seen  no  more.  Some  of  our  paths  may  be  near 
together  for  awhile,  and  we  can  call  to  one  another  and  renew  old 
memories;  but  voices  v/ill  grow  fainter  and  become  silent,  one  by  one. 
White-haired  college  boys  sit  about  us  here.  We  wonder,  "Did 
they  stand,  as  we  do  now,  and  bid  farewell  to  young  classmates?"  Shall 
we  stand,  as  they,  so  near  the  end  of  the  journey,  and  think  back  over 
the  years  to  this  summer  day  when  we  said  farewell  and  left  one  an- 
other? Oh,  fellows,  our  lives  must  be  cheery,  happy  lives.  We  want 
to  carry  sunshine  out  into  the  big  world.  Even  at  this  time  we  don't 
want  to  darken  life  by  sad  thoughts.  We  know  that  the  memories  of 
these  old  college-days  will  brighten  all  the  way.  It  is  well  that  we 
have  this  meeting,  the  last  Iook  into  one  another's  face  before  we  go. 
We  can  keep  the  picture  as  a  final  memory  of  the  old  boys  together. 
Boys,  we  can't  stay  longer.  The  moment  of  parting  has  come.  Good- 
bye! From  heart  to  heart,  as  we  wait  this  moment,  let  there  be 
breathed  a  silent,  a  last  good-bye.    Good-bye! 


BUILD  CASTLES  IN  THE  AIR. 

(Valedictory.) 


M 


Y  Dear  Young  Friends:    What  shall  I  say  to  you.  young  men, 

graduates   of  .     I  am  reminded  of  a  story  that  an    old 

friend  used  to  tell.  He  was  a  repeater  of  the  pronounced  type. 
You  know  the  class.  A  venerable  old  priest  in  Ireland  was  accustomed 
to  preach  Sunday  after  Sunday  to  his  congregation  the  same  sermon. 
Now  he  delivered  it  in  Gaelic.  (Perhaps  it  meant  more  in  Gaelic.)  I 
will  not  Z-V-  you  the  original  for  two  reasons:  First,  you  are  not  likely 
to  understand  it;  and  secondly,  I  don't  know  how  myself.  The  sermon 
was  this:  "Do  good  and  shun  evil,  and  you  know  how  to  do  this  as 
well  as  I  can  tell  you."  After  all,  my  dear  young  friends,  this  is  the 
sum.  of  all  ethics.  This  is  the  epitome  of  the  whole  scripture:  "Fear 
God  and  keep  His  commandments." 

Young  men,  your  days  have  been  days  of  peace  in  the  land-locked 
waters  of  your  alma  mater.     You  have  been  watched  over  and  guided 


160    /  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

by  watchful  masters;  you  have  been  spurred  by  generous  competitors; 
you  have  been  buffeted  by  no  great  storm;  but  now  you  go  forth  into 
the  open,  where  waves  of  opposition  will  bar  your  progress,  where 
rivalry  will  stop  at  no  means  to  defeat  you.  You  must  bend  to  your 
oars,  you  must  be  sustained  by  a  manly  determination  to  leave  no 
means  untried  to  accomplish  your  ambitions.  You  have  builded  castles 
in  the  air  this  many  a  day — and  I  pity  the  young  man  who  has  no  day- 
dreams, who  does  not  try  to  give  to  these  airy  fancies  a  habitation  and 
a  name.  Gentlemen,  build  your  castles  in  the  air;  with  the  brush  of 
fancy  give  them  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  and  let  the  light  of  hope 
shine  upon  their  pillars  and  their  domes;  but  put  under  them  the  strong 
foundations  of  integrity  of  life;  lay  the  courses  of  industry  and  so- 
briety; let  the  bond  be  perseverance — and  there  is  no  reason  why,  in 
twenty  or  thirty  years  from  now,  your  alma  mater  should  not  rejoice 
to  see  that  "the  baseless  fabric  of  a  dream"  has  been  realized,  that 
phantom  walls  have  been  solidified  into  a  real  edifice,  that  your  hopes 
have  become  consummated  facts.  What  a  glorious  century  you  young 
and  earnest  men  are  living  in.  In  all  directions  progress  has  made 
marked  increase.  The  earth  has  been  forced  to  give  up  her  secrets; 
the  sun  has  told  the  matter  of  which  it  is  composed;  man's  ambition 
has  reached  out  to  touch  and  hold  converse  with  the  stars.  In  the 
mechanical  arts,  wonders  follow  wonders.  Man  has  not  only  taken 
Emerson's  advice  and  hitched  his  wagon  to  a  star,  but  he  has  cabined 
the  ethereal  forces  of  the  air  and  made  them  do  his  bidding.  Of  all 
things  evanescent,  he  has  captured  sound  itself,  and  the  saying  of  Hor- 
ace, "Vox  emissa  nunquam  revertit,"  he  has  discredited  by  the  mysteri- 
ous mechanism  of  the  phonograph.  You  are  to  be  congratulated,  as 
citizens  of  the  United  States,  that  you  will  have  a  part  and  perhaps  a 
directing  voice  in  its  future  development,  that  upon  you  and  others  like 
you  must  depend  the  truth  of  the  classic  saying  of  the  immortal  Lin- 
coln on  the  field  of  Gettysburg,  "that  government  of  the  people,  by  the 
people,  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth." 

DAY  WORTH  REMEMBERING. 

(Valedictory.) 


FELLOW  Scholars:  Another  year  of  our  school-life  is  finished. 
Many  of  us  have  come  to-day  for  the  last  time.  But,  whether 
we  go  or  stay,  we  shall  all  find  abundant  cause  to  remember  our 
school  with  gratitude.  Day  after  day  we  have  assembled  here,  and  the 
associations  which  cluster  round  this  place — more  vivid  in  our  minds 
to-day  than  ever  before — can  never  be  forgotten.  They  will  go  with 
us  through  life,  and  form  an  important  part  in  the  experience  of  every 
one  of  us.  The  events  of  this  day  and  of  the  past  school  days  are  to 
be  remembered  and  recalled  with  pleasure,  perhaps  with  pride,  when 
we  have  passed  far  down  the  vale  of  years.  As  we  hear  the  aged  of 
to-day  rehearse  the  scenes  of  their  youth,  so  shall  we  revive  the  mem- 
ories of  our  school  when  the  battle  of  life  has  been  fought,  and  we  sit 
down  to  repose  after  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day.  Then  little  inci- 
dents, which  seem  now  hardly  worth  telling,  will  possess  deeper  inter- 
est, and  will  linger  fondly  in  the  imagination.  To-day,  with  its  trials 
and  its  triumphs,  will  be  regarded  as  an  epoch  in  the  career  of  some 


GRADUATION  DAY  161 

cf  us;  as  a  day  worth  remembering  by  all  of  us.  We  cannot  take  leave 
of  these  familiar  walls,  and  sunder  the  pleasant  associations  which 
have  bound  us  together,  without  acknowledging  the  debt  of  gratitude 
we  owe  to  our  school  and  to  our  teachers  for  their  fostering  care.  We 
have  too  little  experience  of  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  active 
life  fully  to  understand  and  appreciate  the  value  of  the  intellectual  and 
moral  training  we  have  received,  but  we  know  that  we  are  wiser  and 
better  for  it.  We  know  that  without  it  we  could  achieve  neither  moral 
ncr  business  success.  To  many  of  us  the  education  we  have  obtained 
here  will  be  our  only  capital  in  beginning  life;  and,  whatever  of  wealth 
and  hcncr  we  may  win  in  the  world>we  shall  be  largely  indebted  to  our 
school  for  the  means  of  success.  I  Let  us,  then,  ever  remember  our 
school  with  affection  and  gratitude. '"Tet  us  ever  feel  a  noble  pride  in 
those  who  have  so  wisely  and  so  generously  placed  the  means  of  edu- 
cation within  our  reach.  To  school  officers,  and  to  teachers,  we  return 
sincere  thanks  for  their  hearty  and  continued  interest  in  our  welfare?^ 
/nd  now,  fellow-scholars,  the  class  of  this  year  will  soon  separate^ 
never  again  to  be  united  in  the  school-room.  May  prosperity  and  hap- 
piness attend  both  teachers  and  scholars  in  their  future  career! 


SENTIMENT  RULES  THE  WORLD. 

(High    School    Valedictory.) 


Mabel  A.  Hill. 


SENTIMENT  has  been  an  important  factor  in  all  great  achieve- 
ment. Science  has  revealed  the  mysteries  and  powers  of  nature; 
reason  has  searched  for  truth  and  found  it;  opinions  have  strug- 
gled for  supremacy  in  the  realm  of  debate;  but  when  action  has  been 
necessary,  sentiment  has  been  the  inspiration  that  has  aroused  men 
and  women  to  the  great  deeds  that  mark  the  progress  of  the  race. 
Love  of  home,  love  of  country,  love  of  fellow-men,  love  of  God — these 
sentiments  rule  the  world.  They  are  higher  than  science;  they  are 
above  mental  attainments.  The  kiss  of  his  mother  made  Benjamin 
West  a  great  painter;  a  spirit  of  patriotism  inspired  the  sailors  in 
Manila  harbor  and  the  soldiers  about  Santiago;  lofty  sense  of  duty, 
and  not  desire  for  a  day's  pay,  caused  the  elevator  man  in  the  burning 
hotel  to  die  at  his  post  in  efforts  to  save  women  and  children.  Senti- 
ment cannot  be  taught  from  books  nor  learned  like  a  lesson  in  algebra. 
Every  worthy  emotion  needs  the  inspiration  of  high  ideals,  the  influ- 
ence of  noble  lives,  to  foster  its  growth.  The  school  wins  the  loyalty 
and  retains  the  affections  of  those  educated  in  it,  not  wholly  because 
of  the  knowledge  it  imparts,  but  even  more  because  of  the  sentiments 
and  purposes  it  instils.  Lessons  learned  from  text-books  may  soon  be 
forgotten.  They  are  but  the  scaffolding  of  the  building.  The  person- 
ality of  teachers  and  the  influence  of  schoolmates  remain  in  the  mem- 
ory, in  the  heart,  in  the  life.  Let  no  cne  smile  in  derision  if,  on  an 
occasion  like  this,  some  enthusiasm  is  manifested  for  our  alma  mater, 
and  some  sentiments  of  affection  are  expressed  for  those  who,  within 
its  walls,  have  molded  the  characters  and  trained  the  minds  of  genera- 
tions of  pupils. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Board  of  Public  Instruction:     We  feel  that  the 


162  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 


benefits  received  from  our  studies  are  owing  in  large  part  to  your  wise 
management.  We  desire  to  acknowledge  the  debt;  and,  as  a  class,  to 
pledge  ourselves  to  unceasing  loyalty  to  the  ideals  that  have  made  our 
city  prosperous  and  our  country  great,  united  and  free. 

To ,  and  to  all  our  teachers,  we  give  sincerest  thanks.    With 

patience  and  skill  you  have  labored  to  make  us  strong,  to  train  us  to 
self-mastery,  to  fit  us  to  use  with  efficiency  the  powers  we  have.  Like 
soldiers,  we  have  been  under  training  for  a  great  and  noble  battlefield. 
We  should,  indeed,  be  ungrateful  did  we  not  feel  and  express  a  senti- 
ment of  appreciation  for  the  efforts  put  forth  in  our  behalf.  We  real- 
ize our  debt,  and  hope  to  pay  it  in  part  by  .using  the  strength  we  have 
gained  in  helping  others,  as  you  have  helped  us. 

Dear  Classmates:  After  pleasant  years  in  school  together  the  rela- 
tion of  schoolmates  must  be  severed.  We  shall  always  look  back  to 
this  period  of  our  youth  with  happy  memories.  We  now  stand  at  the 
door  through  which  we  must  pass  into  a  sphere  of  new  experiences. 
Heretofore,  our  steps  have  been  guided  by  teachers  and  friends.  Now 
we  must  choose  our  own  paths  and  fight  our  own  battles.  If  these 
years  of  preparation  have  fitted  us  to  conquer  difficulties,  to  face  dis- 
couragements, and  still  press  on  to  noble  achievement,  they  have  been 
well  and  wisely  spent.  A  feeling  of  sadness  mingles  with  our  joy  to- 
day, because  we  must  bid  farewell  to  our  alma  mater  and  to  the  scenes 
of  so  many  seemingly  trifling  but  really  important  events  of  our  lives. 
If  we  feel  that  our  duties  have  been  cheerfully  and  faithfully  per- 
formed, our  time  well  employed,  that  we  have  done  the  best  we  could, 
there  need  be  no  real  regret  that  we  are  four  years  nearer  the  larger 
activities  of  manhood  and  womanhood.  But  we  have  reached  one  goal 
only  to  see  another  ahead  of  us.  Already  we  see  what  so  many  have 
realized,  that  the  ideal  is  always  far  in  advance  of  attainment- 

"Nevv  occasions  teach  new  duties, 
Time  makes  ancient  good  uncouth; 
They  must  upward  still  and  onward 
Who  would  keep  abreast  of  truth." 

The  future,  upon  which  we  are  entering,  promises  opportunities  for 
achievement  greater  than  those  offered  by  former  years.  The  world's 
greatest  battles  have  not  yet  been  fought  and  its  greatest  victories  have 
not  yet  been  won.  Hence,  we  may  part,  with  high  hopes  and  pleasant 
prospects.  As  we  say  farewell  to  our  alma  mater  and  to  one  another, 
let  us  resolve  to  find  our  work  in  this  busy  world  and  strive  by  earnest 
and  persistent  endeavor  to  win  true  success. 

JOY  AND  SADNESS— SUNSHINE  AND  SHADOW. 

(College  Valedictory.) 


THE  honor  has  been  conferred  upon  me  of  addressing  you  at  this 
final  meeting  of  the  class.  It  brings  with  it  a  commingled  feel- 
ing of  joy  and  sadness — joy  because  we  have  reached  the  goal  for 
which  we  have  so  long  been  striving;  sadness  because  of  the  severing 
of  long  and  intimate  companionships.  Yet  there  is  an  end  to  all  things, 
"to  the  shortest  path  and  to  the  longest  lane  there  comes  an  end." 
In  every  varied  tongue  of  earth  we  find  one  word,  that  word  that 


GRADUATION  DAY  163 

draws  down  the  curtain  upon  the  brightest  scenes  of  earthly  life — that 
word  to  give  utterance  to  which  we  have  assembled  here  to-night — 
that  sad,  sweet  word,  "farewell."  We  breathe  it  tenderly,  we  breathe 
it , earnestly,  for  it  bears  in  its  accent  a  blessing  and  a  prayer. 

To  you,  people  of  this  fair  city,  we  extend  the  parting  hand  with 
emotions  of  special  regret.  We  came  into  your  midst  quietly,  but  we 
celebrate  our  departure;  we  came  untried,  unlearned,  but  we  go  bearing 
the  marks  of  discipline;  we  came  with  our  careers  scarcely  yet  opened, 
but  we  go  with  our  careers  as  students  finished.  To  you  we  came  as 
strangers,  seeking  knowledge,  friends  and  home.  In  your  midst  we 
have  tarried  thus  long  with  pleasure  and  profit.  From  your  midst  we 
shall,  on  the  morrow,  depart  to  pursue  the  mission  we  have  chosen  in 
the  great  outer  world.  Farewell,  fair  city.  Farewell,  friends,  tried  and 
true.  Farewell,  scenes  and  places  grown  familiar  to  our  view,  which 
time  never  can  efface  from  our  hearts'  fond  recollections.  When  the 
brows  that  now  flush  high  with  youthful  ambition  shall  become  with- 
ered by  age,  perchance  we  shall  look  back  as  to  a  bright  sunbeam  amid 
the  shadov/s  of  the  past,  to  this  dear  place,  to  these  well-remembered 
faces  to  which  now  we  say,  farewell. 

There  are  those  before  us  to-night  who  hold  especial  claims  on 
our  gratitude.  Mr.  President,  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Board  of  Trus- 
tees: We  thank  you  for  your  care,  for  the  interest  you  have  taken  in 
the  welfare  of  those  who  come  hither  each  year  to  your  kind  over- 
sight. As  we  bid  you  adieu,  believe  that  we  shall  ever  cherish  in  our 
hearts  the  thought  that  to  a  great  extent  it  is  to  you  we  owe  the  privi- 
leges we  have  enjoyed — the  privileges  of  fitting  ourselves  for  the  noble 
and  honored  profession  we  are  about  to  enter.  If  it  be  a  joy  to  know 
that  "labors  of  love  are  not  all  in  vain;"  if  it  be  a  pleasure  to  know 
that  "seeds  of  kindness  are  bearing  rich  and  abundant  fruit,"  may  that 
joy  and  that  pleasure  be  yours  in  fullest  portion.  May  you  ever  be 
able  to  look  with  feelings  of  heartfelt  satisfaction  on  all  your  efforts 
for  the  advancement  of  those  enrolled  on  the  register  of  your  staunch 
and  noble  institution,  and  especially  on  this  band  whose  lot  it  is  now 
to  bid  you  a  long  farewell. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Faculty,  Most  Honored  Instructors:  To  you  has 
been  given  the  task  of  impressing  directly  on  our  minds  those  truths 
that  shall  develop  the  truest  manhood  of  each  nature,  and  of  implant- 
ing into  each  brain  and  heart  the  germs  of  knowledge,  whose  perfect 
growth  shall  form  lives  of  success,  and  whose  fruitage  shall  be  the 
crowning  of  well-spent  lives.  How  well  you  hav2  discharged  this  re- 
sponsibility, the  present  but  faintly  shows;  the  future  alone  can  tell 
how  well  and  how  faithfully  you  have  labored  in  our  behalf.  We 
tremble  as  we  leave  you,  for  here  we  have  relied  on  your  wisdom,  your 
guidance;  here  we  have  sought  counsel  and  assistance  from  you  who 
have  ever  been  so  willing  to  bestow  it.  Now  we  launch  our  little  craft 
away,  away  from  the  shipyard,  off  the  stock,  away  from  the  master- 
builder's  hands.  We  go  to  battle  with  the  waves  where  there  shall  be 
none  to  guide  or  assist.  Our  own  eyes  must  now  watch  the  compass 
and  scan  the  chart.  Our  own  hands  must  hold  the  rudder.  Farewell, 
kind,  faithful  teachers,  farewell.  If  ever  hours  of  dark  defeat  and  fail- 
ure come,  bitterly  shall  we  rue  the  neglect  with  which  we  have  met, 
alas,  too  many  of  your  monitions;  and  when  the  banner  waves  high 


164  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  35 

and  the  welkin  echoes  with  glad  shout  of  triumph,  we  shall  think  of 
you  and  say,  that  to  you,  to  your  wisdom  and  instruction  we  owe  it  all. 

"The  king  is  dead,  long  live  the  king!"  Thus  cried  the  royal 
courtiers.  We  too  are  inclined  to  "welcome  the  coming,  speed  the 
parting  guest."  As  we  move  off  this  stage  of  duty,  our  places  are 
quickly  filled  by  others.  We  welcome  you,  fellow-students  of  the  ad- 
vancing class.  You  are  to  enjoy  the  opportunities  we  have  enjoyed. 
May  you  improve  them  better.  Ycu  will  fill  the  places  which  we  now 
fill.  May  you  fill  them  more  worthily.  We  leave  you,  too,  and  extend 
the  hand  of  parting.  What  can  we  say  more  than  farewell,  except,  to 
wish  you  well  for  the  time  to  come?  Together  we  have  pursued  our 
way  through  academic  shades;  we  step  out  of  them  a  little  in  advance, 
leaving  you  to  linger  there  a  little  longer,  and  then  to  follow  us,  giving 
place  to  those  who  in  their  time  shall  follow  you.  In  all  the  mazes 
of  the  future,  in  all  that  awaits  you  in  the  life  to  come,  we  bid  you 
Godspeed  and  fare-you-well. 

Fellow-Classmates:  Our  college  days  are  ended.  Here  our  friend- 
ship has  grown  into  mutual  affection.  Here  we  drink  from  the  same 
fountains,  have  the  same  brave  thoughts  and  high  aspirations  for  the 
future;  but,  as  I  have  already  said,  there  is  an  end  to  all,  "to  pleasure 
and  to  pain,  to  idleness  and  to  toil."  It  well  behooves  us  to  step  cau- 
tiously as  we  cross  the  threshold  and  emerge  upon  the  dazzling  sun- 
light and  the  deafening  din  and  tumultuous  whirl  of  the  busy  world. 
Think  not  that  all  is  sunshine,  nor  that  fame  will  wait  on  your  bid- 
ding. "He  who  would  win  must  labor  for  the  prize."  If  the  thought 
arises,  are  we  adequate  to  the  task  of  so  shaping  our  course  in  life's 
dark  maze  as  to  reach  the  goal,  the  haven  of  success  which  we  seek? 
let  the  success  of  others  be  our  stimulus.  But  I  will  not  dwell  on  this 
theme;  the  usual  hackneyed  platitudes  concerning  this  great  problem 
of  life  are  already  familiar  to  every  ear;  their  echoes  linger  in  every 
mind.  We  would  fain  linger  here,  but  the  words  we  might  utter  are 
too  sacred.  The  solemn  thought  that  this  may  be  the  last  time  our 
dear  old  class  shall  meet  unbroken,  chills  and  awes  every  heart.  For- 
getting, as  we  do,  all  the  heart  wounds  of  class  rivalry,  let  us  bear 
away  from  this  place  the  precious  casket  of  our  strong,  true  love.  Com- 
rades, farewell.  God  be  with  every  one;  and,  if  our  next  meeting  be 
in  the  great  Hereafter,  may  an  unclouded  path  of  glorious  labor,  toil 
and  triumph  lead  back  and  back  amid  and  beyond  the  scenes  of  time's 
life  to  this  time  and  to  this  spot  where  now  we  say  "farewell." 


TOLERANCE  THE  BASIS  OF  LIBERTY. 

(Valedictory.) 


THE  ancient  world  knew  nothing  universal.  China's  non-inter- 
course, of  which  her  Great  Wall  is  but  a  feeble  symbol;  Brahmin 
castes  in  India;  the  impassable  barrier  of  Jew  and  Gentile;  the 
English  rural  classes  of  little  over  a  hundred  years  ago,  to  whom 
"stranger"  and  "enemy"  were  one  word;  Mohammedanism,  universal 
only  as  universal  intolerance — these  have  no  hint  of  the  brotherhood 
of  man.  Christ  laid  the  first  foundations  of  catholicity;  the  religion 
of  love  is  the  only  universal  religion.  Yet,  how  slowly  the  principle 
has  taken  root  in  men's  hearts,  let  the  Inquisition,  let  Louis  XIV.,  let 


GRADUATION  DAY  165 

Salem, — nay,  even  within  the  memory  of  a  generation,  let  American 
slavery  bear  witness !  Little  by  little  society  has  unfettered  us,  and  yet 
our  opinions  have  but  begun  to  be  free.  Not  only  is  intolerance  at  vari- 
ance with  every  principle  of  liberty  and  every  teaching  of  the  gospel 
of  love;  it  is  open,  as  Mill  has  shown,  to  pertinent  objections  from  a 
purely  utilitarian  standpoint.  There  is  too  great  risk  of  rooting  up  the 
wheat  of  truth  with  the  tares  of  error.  Progress,  too,  is  born  of  strug- 
gle, the  conflict  of  all  views  develops  the  right,  and  it  is  the  love  issue 
which  affects  character  and  conduct.  Finally,  the  perfection  of  individ- 
uality depends  on  freedom.  Theory  and  practice  agree.  It  is  not  only 
right,  but  it  pays  to  have  a  broad  mind  and  a  liberal  heart. 

There  is  breadth,  to  be  sure,  which  is  shallowness;  one  may  con- 
ceive himself  catholic,  because,  having  no  foundation  for  belief  and  no 
concern  for  what  he  believes,  he  is  "carried  about  by  every  wind  of 
doctrine."  But  the  true  catholic  recognition  of  others'  opinions  does 
not  mean  that  we  have  none  of  our  own.  Tolerance,  again,  is  not  in- 
difference. We  must  care  whether  right  or  wrong  prevails.  Catholicity 
is  not  stifling  conviction  for  fear  of  offense,  nor  is  it  subservience  to 
the  will  and  thought  of  those  who  happen  to  possess  greater  power. 
Those  who  in  deference  to  others'  opinions  deceive  themselves  as  to 
their  own,  simulate  in  public  what  they  do  not  believe  in  private,  and 
take  no  step  towards  the  realization  of  what  they  are  convinced  is  truth, 
are  cowardly,  not  catholic.  Many  delude  themselves  with  such  com- 
promises, but  catholicity  is  none  of  these.  There  is  a  sacred  obligation 
to  think  independently,  to  think  deep  and  clear,  and  to  stand  firmly  by 
the  outcome  of  one's  thinking.  But  on  the  other  hand,  and  perfectly 
consistent  with  this  clear-sighted  earnestness,  is  the  broader  universal 
sympathy,  the  true  tolerance  that  springs  from  the  realization  at  once 
of  all  men's  worth  and  our  own  fallibility.  Nay,  rather,  belief  is  the 
very  foundation.  He  who  has  not  thought  deeply  and  thoroughly,  and 
reached  a  conclusion,  is  in  no  position  to  be  catholic,  however  wide  his 
interests.  But  to  have  convictions  is  not  necessarily  to  suppose  that 
we  have  the  monopoly  of  truth,  nor  to  conceive  ourselves  incapable  of 
error.  The  first  element  of  catholicity  is  the  honest  recognition  of 
the  fact  that  truth  and  error  are  so  distributed  that  every  man  has  his 
share  of  both.  When  one  realizes  that  he  may  be  wrong,  and  others 
at  least  partly  right,  he  has  taken  a  long  step  forward. 

Akin  to  this  is  the  receptive  spirit.  It  is  hard  to  be  corrected  by 
an  enemy  or  by  those  we  deemed  unworthy  our  contending.  But  truth 
is  the  object  of  our  search  wherever  found,  the  priceless  stone  what- 
ever the  setting.  To  that  mind  which  is  most  ready  to  receive  shall 
most  be  given.  The  catholic  spirit  is  one  of  generous  sympathy.  It 
is  human,  and  "counts  no  human  interest  foreign."  With  justice,  it 
accords  to  each  his  due,  but  it  does  more.  It  concerns  itself  with  his 
thoughts;  it  tries  to  see  from  his  standpoint;  it  recognizes  brotherhood. 
This  is  t!  e  leaven  which  is  transforming  and  yet  to  transform;  this  is 
the  goal  of  philosophers  and  the  dream  of  poets,  for  it  is  the  very 
essence  of  that  great  commandment,  "that  ye  love  one  another." 

Catholicity  is  tolerant;  not  for  the  sake  of  ease,  nor  because  error 
is  ever  useful,  but  for  the  sake  of  reclaiming  the  wanderer.  Paul  was 
"All  things  to  all  men" — why?  That  he  "might  save  some."  Catholicity 
is  democratic.   With  it  is  liberty,  for  it  denies  the  right  of  any  to  im- 


166  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

pose  his  beliefs  on  any  other.  With  it  is  equalty.  The  pomp  of  power 
does  not  distort  its  vision;  position  and  worldly  circumstance  do  not 
disturb  the  balance  of  its  scales.  Class  and  rank,  race  and  nation,  give 
way  to  the  one  supreme  fact  of  manhood,  for  catholicity  is  all-inclusive. 
It  asserts  at  once  the  dignity  of  every  individual  and  the  unity  of  man- 
kind. In  the  face  of  pride  and  prejudice,  narrow  thought  and  selfish 
action,  it  cries,  "A  man's  a  man."  Justice  and  sympathy,  breadth  and 
depth,  recognition  of  individuality,  love  of  truth — this  is  catholicity.  It 
is  this  which  should  be  one  of  the  first  characteristics  of  the  college- 
man.  If  the  college-man  has  not  taken  the  next  step,  and  realized  the 
host  of  other  opinions  in  the  world,  he  has  made  poor  use  of  what  we 
call  liberal  education.  What  in  the  same  space  of  time  can  give  a 
wider  outlook  than  college  training?  We  have  studied  history,  to  learn 
what  other  men  have  done;  literature,  for  what  other  men  have  said; 
philosophy,  for  what  other  men  have  thought.  Our  faces  have  been 
turned  to  other  races,  other  times,  other  callings  than  our  own.  We 
have  had  contact  with  a  wide  circle  of  teachers  and  learners,  with  all 
their  diversity  of  interests.  Yet  with  all  this,  college-life  has  also  its 
narrowing  influence.  Living  in  an  ideal  world  of  our  own,  the  actual, 
present  world  outside  we  lose  sight  of.  The  man  of  culture,  when  he 
comes  once  more  into  contact  with  those  who  have  none,  is  prone  to 
surround  himself  and  look  down.  His  very  breadth  is  narrowness,  be- 
cause he  finds  so  few  on  the  same  plane.  To  what  end  have  we  been 
here?  Have  we  learned  of  books  and  of  each  other  in  vain?  Is  it 
for  naught  that  they  of  old  time  and  they  of  now  have  united  to  show 
us  truth  and  stir  our  zeal?  Nay,  let  us  read  the  lesson  aright:  Go 
deeper;  go  wider.  Make  the  most  of  yourself  but  not  for  yourself. 
"Freely  ye  havejreceived;  freely  give." 

To  you,  Mr.  President,  on  behalf  of  the  graduating  class,  let  me 
offer  our  congratulations  on  the  growth  and  increasing  influence  of  the 
college  to  whose  prosperity  you  have  so  zealously  devoted  your  ener- 
gies. And  not  for  her  sake  only,  but  for  our  own  as  individuals,  shall 
we  remember  you  with  honor  and  regard,  for  we  have  felt  the  impulse 
of  the  keen  insight  and  the  fine  candor  in  which  we  have  delighted, 
and  know  that  you  send  us  away  with  both  clearer  understanding  and 
higher  ideals. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Board  of  Trustees,  we  know  that  you  have  been 
back  of  this  college,  faithfully  guarding  her  material  interests  and 
guiding  her  with  undiminished  prosperity  through  these  trying  seasons, 
and  that  in  the  same  liberal  spirit  which  has  so  transformed  her  in  the 
last  twenty-five  years  you  now  enter  upon  a  richer  trust  and  multiplied 
opportunities.  We,  your  debtors,  invoke  the  same  success  for  your  ad- 
ministration. 

Gentlemen  of  the  Faculty  and  beloved  Dean,  now  that  we  realize 
that  we  are  to  sit  as  learners  at  your  feet  no  longer  we  begin  more 
justly  to  appreciate  the  worth  of  that  daily  intercourse.  We  have 
learned  to  honor  you,  not  vaguely,  because  of  your  authority,  but  heart- 
ily, because,  having  met  you  face  to  face,  we  have  seen  your  learning 
and  ability,  have  found  insight  and  uplift,  and  have  known  you  to  be 
sterling  men.  We  have  felt,  too,  your  genuine  sympathy  with  all  cur 
student  interests;  the  wisdom  and  consideration,  with  which  you  have 
met  a  class  of  men  so  hard  to  please,  is  witnessed  by  the  rare  degree 


GRADUATION  DAY  167 

of  harmony  which  prevails  between  the  faculty  and  student  body  of  our 
alma  mater. 

Members  of  the  Undergraduate  Body,  to  you  we  commend  the  in- 
terests we  have  hitherto  cherished  together,  knowing  that  your  enthu- 
siastic loyalty  is  no  less  than  ours.  But  let  us  remind  you  that  democ- 
racy is  no  less  an  element  of  our  success,  and  our  democracy,  if  any- 
thing, is  in  danger. 

To  us,  the  last  class  to  graduate  from  the  College  of ,  hence- 
forth to  bear  a  prouder  title  and  exert  a  wider  influence,  may  be  per- 
mitted the  parting  hope  that  the  spirit  of  the  college  we  have  known 
may  be  the  spirit  of  the  university  that  is  to  be.  An  enthusiasm  that 
never  can  be  silenced,  a  loyalty  unchanged  in  victory  or  defeat,  a  de- 
mocracy truly  catholic,  which  leaves  each  to  stand  on  his  own  merits, 
and  makes  all  one — that  is  the  making  of  men.  Whatever  change  there 
is  in  form  and  whatever  expansion  in  equipment,  we  cannot  insist  too 
strongly  that  it  is  the  same  educational  institution.  This  is  no  time  for 
oivision  cr  relaxed  effort.  In  every  great  department  of  our  college 
interest,  our  halls,  our  sports,  our  daily  work,  and  our  religion,  let  the 
enthusiasm  extend  to  every  part.  If  any  of  these  activities  seem  to  be 
flagging,  be  assured  that  their  vitality  is  undiminished,  waiting  only 
for  the  renewal  of  that  undivided  interest  which  has  always  character- 
ized our  best  endeavors. 

Fellow-members  cf  the  Graduating  Class,  how  large  these  four 
years  of  privilege  seem  as  we  look  back  upon  them!  Much  we  have 
lost,  which  it  is  now  vain  to  regret.  Much  we  have  won,  and  hence- 
forth we  must  render  account  of  our  stewardship.  Do  we  realize  that 
the  measure  of  privilege  is  the  measure  of  responsibility?  What  that 
privilege  has  been  comes  to  us  with  amazing  force  in  these  last  mo- 
ments, and  yet  one  word  of  warning.  It  is  just  possible  that  the  two 
best  influences  of  college-life  should  be  each  other's  undoing.  The 
very  multiplicity  of  influences  which  broadens  us  makes  it  impossible 
to  do  justice  to  them  all,  class-work  sometimes  becomes  veneer;  we  are 
satisfied  with  less  than  we  are  worth.  On  the  other  hand,  earnestness 
of  thought,  whcse  contact  makes  for  depth,  may  also  narrow  us.  The 
college  student  is  proverbially  the  harshest  of  critics;  he  is  so  used  to 
the  best  that  he  has  little  patience  with  more  ordinary  thinkers.  Shall 
this  be?  Is  that,  which  should  make  us  catholic,  only  to  make  us  thor- 
ough; and  that,  which  makes  us  earnest,  makes  us  only  narrow  and 
intolerant?  Surely  our  response  shall  be  to  the  best  in  our  environ- 
ment, the  hundred  things  noble,  not  the  one  thing  low.  In  these  four 
years  we  have  learned  to  know  and  value  one  another;  we  have  formed 
the  unrivaled  friendships  of  college  life;  we  have  shared  our  pleasures 
beneath  these  elms,  and  together  we  have  read  to  the  end  of  the  long 
chapter  of  opportunities.  There  remain  now  only  the  last  brief  words 
of  farewell, — words  we  may  have  heard  so  often  here,  words  spoken 
through  tears.  Commonplace?  Yes;  but  always  with  a  new  sadness. 
No  amount  of  experience  can  make  parting  painless,  nor  yet  give  us 
words  for  what  we  feel.  How  much  of  memory  and  how  much  of 
hope  is  bound  up  in  those  two  syllables,  "fare-well"!  How  faithfully 
shall  we  cherish  the  remembrance  of  our  college  and  our  class!  What 
is  there  of  good  that  we  do  not  heartily  invoke  for  them  both?  We 
are  drawn  together  now  as  we  have  never  been  before;  the  last  hand- 


168  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

shake  has  a  new  thrill  in  it.  But  the  last  hour  has  struck.  With  change- 
less love  for  our  alma  mater,  with  steadfast  loyalty  to  one  another, 
with  a  heart  bent  on  high  things,  and  broad  enough  for  all — so  go  we 
forth,  and  Godspeed! 


ALWAYS  LAST. 

(Valedictory  Poem.) 


YOU'VE  heard,  kind  friends,  I  have  no  doubt, 
The  story  of  the  hapless  lout, 
Who  had  the  hard,  unlucky  fate 
To  come  into  the  world  too  late! 
In  reference  to  his  sad  case, 
'Tis  said  his  woful  birth  took  place 
Upon  the  last  day  of  the  year. 
Added  to  this,  the  fact  quite  clear 
That  it  was  also  the  last  day 
Of  the  last  month;  and  people  say, 
'Twas  the  last  minute's  dying  stroke 
Of  the  clock,  that  on  the  midnight  broke. 
I  must  be  something  like  this  man; 
For,  though  I  work  the  best  I  can, 
With  faithful  students  have  been  classed, — 
Yet,  somehow,  I  am  always  last! 
I  was  not,  therefore,  much  surprised, 
When,  at  the  last,  it  fell  to  me 
To  speak  the  valedictory. 
And,  added  to  it,  was  the  sorrow, 
That  I  must  neither  steal  nor  borrow; 
But  the  said  speech  must  emanate 
Original  from  my  own  pate. 
I  knew  I  must  perforce  obey; 
I  tried  to  think  of  what  to  say; 
I  racked  my  fancy,  brain,  and  mind, 
Some  fresh  and  new  idea  to  find. 
I  was  ambitious  to  prepare 
A  speech  containing  something  rare; 
I  hoped  to  strike  some  stirring  theme, 
Pleasant  and  sweet  as  some  fair  dreamy 
But,  'tis  a  thing  so  hackneyed  o'er 
By  orators  who've  gone  before, 
That  it  would  take  a  genius  bright, 
A  valedictory  to  write, 
That  would  not  be  considered  tame, 
Much  less  add  luster  to  a  name. 
Blood  from  a  turnip  can't  be  squeezed; 
My  conscience  I  at  least  have  eased. 
You  know,  I've  tried  to  do  my  best, 
And  here  we'll  let  the  matter  rest. 
For  your  attention  so  polite 
My  earnest  thanks  receive  -good-night S 


GRADUATION  DAY  169 

HARD  LESSONS— HARDER  TRIALS  COMING. 

(Valedictory  Poem.) 


Mattie  L.   Adams. 


LAST  night  we  stood  with  our  teachers 
And  our  sad  farewells  were  said; 
Our  hearts  were  woven  together 
Through  trials  we'd  loved  each  other, 
Now  to  break  the  tie  asunder 
Seemed  a  knell  above  the  dead. 

Each  one  had  been  often  angry, 
And  to  each  had  inflicted  a  wound. 
Child-like,  we  had  scolded  and  fretted, 
And  daily  we  all  regretted 
That  the  red  sun  yesterday  even 
O'er  our  angry  hearts  sank  down. 

Many  and  hard  were  the  lessons  we  learned, 
But  we  learned  them  bravely  and  well; 
For  oft  as  we  sat  in  the  gloaming 
With  minds  all  wandering,  roaming, 
We  strove  with  the  strength  of  heroes 
And  broke  the  alluring  spell. 

And  oft,  as  the  clock  on  the  mantel 

Numbered  the  hours  of  night, 

We  were  learning  our  lessons  on  and  on, 

Till  chanticleer  shrilly  crowed  for  the  morn; 

When  with  heavily  drooping  eyelids 

A  mist  came  over  our  sight. 

'Twas  hard  to  have  ourselves  pent  up 

And  youth  pass  thus  away; 

The  moon  revealed  th'  untrammeled  sheep, 

Content  we  knew  the  earth  at  sleep, 

But  we  must  toil  on  in  the  rugged  path, 

Climb  the  same  old  hill  from  day  to  day. 

But  we've  lost  ourselves  in  dreaming 
Of  our  hardships  that  are  past, 
They  say  we'll  have  harder  trials, 
And  keener  self-denials, 
And  recall  these  days  as  seasons 
That  were  far  too  lovely  to  last. 

Howe'er  it  may  be  in  the  future, 

Full  well  we  know  that  last  night 

We  wished  our  hearts  had  been  stronger, 

Our  lessons  and  sessions  longer, 

And  that  we  had  pressed  with  more  vigor 

To  the  glorious  end  of  the  fight. 


WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

We're  going  home,  now,  schoolmates, 

To  a  palace  or  a  cell; 

But  each  will  remember  the  other 

Ever  as  a  brother, 

For  we  felt  no  proud  distinction 

Last  night  when  we  said  farewell. 


'GOOD-BY  BUT  NOT  FAREWELL.5 

(Valedictory  Poem.) 


Edith  Putnam  Paintcn. 


HERE,  at  the  parting  of  the  ways, 
We  stand>  and  toward  the  future  gaze; 
Our  paths,  that  side  by  side  for  years 
Have  kept  us  one  in  smiles  or  tears, 
Have  run  their  course  and  God's  great  hand 
Leads  out  in  ways  none  understand, 
While  echo-like  some  far-off  bell 
The  words,  "Good-by,  but  not  farewell." 

Together  have  we  laughed  and  smiled, 
And  many  a  happy  hour  beguiled; 
Together  have  we  wept  and  prayed 
When  life's  dark  shadows  'round  us  played. 
'Tis  hard,  indeed,  to  part  from  friends, 
Not  knowing  what. the  future  sends, 
Yet  vain  regrets  we  try  to  quell 
And  say,  "Good-by,  but  not  farewell." 

We  wonder,  "Shall  we  meet  again?" 

And  idly  question,  "Where?"  and  "When?" 

But  God  alone  can  really  know, 

So  blindly  on  our  ways  we  go. 

He  who  hath  led  us  all  life's  way 

Is  just  as  powerful  to-day; 

And  so  we  bravely  try  to  tell 

These  friends,  "Good-by,  but  not  farewell." 

Farewell?     No,  no!     On  that  far  shore, 

Where  friends  shall  meet  to  part  no  more, 

We'll  bridge  once  more  earth's  farthest  space 

And  stand  united  face  to  face. 

There  memory  will  assert  its  power 

Till  we  recall  this  parting  hour, 

And  say,  'neath  heaven's  blissful  spell, 

It  was  "Good-by,  but  not  farewell." 


'Tis  sweet  to  know  there  is  an  eye  will  mark 
Our  coming,  and  look  brighter  when  we  come. 

— Lord  Byron. 


GRADUATION  DAY  171 

JUNIORS'   FAREWELL  TO   SENIOR  CLASS, 

(Valedictory  Poem.) 


Edith  Putnam  Painton. 


YOUNG  lives  are  now  leaving  our  harbor, 
No  longer  at  anchor  to  be; 
Completed  are  all  preparations, 
And  bravely  they  strike  cut  to  sea; 
Four  years  have  they  been  making  ready 

Upon  this  life-voyage  to   start, 
But  now  every  nail  hath  been  driven, 
And  the  hour  cometh  on  to  depart. 

Their  friends  to-night  cluster  arcund  them 

To  bid  them  a  final  adieu, 
To  wish  them  success  on  their  voyage 

As  the  channels  of  life  they  steer  through; 
To  warn  them  of  turbulent  eddies 

Against  which  no  vessel  can  stand, 
To  beg  them  to  steer  ever  onward 

Direct  to  the  heavenly  land. 

Our  barks  must  be  moored  to  the  landing 

For  one  short  and  fleeting  year  more, 
When  we,  too,  must  pull  up  our  anchor, 

And  manfully  push  from  the  shore. 
Unnumbered  routes  lead  from  our  harbor, 

And  no  two  barks  follow  the  same; 
But  all  end  in  one  blessed  haven, 

The  port  to  which  all  mean  to  aim. 

They  will  still  go  on  learning  new  lessons, 

As  through  the  dark  breakers  they  steer; 
And  often  a  storm-cloud  will  threaten, 

And  the  skies  will  look  dull,  dark,  and  drear; 
But  the  sun  will  be  shining  behind  it, 

And  will  shortly  send  forth  a  bright  beam 
To  guide  them  in  pleasanter  channels, 

And  show  them  a  much  clearer  stream. 

To-morrow,  at  even,  the  sailors 

Will  push  out  upon  the  dark  sea, 
And  far  from  all  danger  of  shipwreck, 

God  grant  they  forever  may  be! 
Their  voyage  just  opens  before  them, 

What  its  ending  will  be,  who  can  tell? 
We  know  not;  we  only  can  murmur, 

"God  bless  you,  dear  friends,  fare  you  well!" 


172  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

FATE— GRADUATE. 

(Valedictory  Poem.) 


THE  task  has  fallen  to  my  share, 
A  valedictory  to  prepare; 
But  much  I  fear, 

You  who  are  here, 
May  think  it  but  a  poor  endeavor, 
And  very  far  from  being  clever. 

But  please  be  kind, 

And  bear  in  mind 
That  'tis  a  trying  thing  to  stand 
Before  the  savants  of  the  land, 
And  give  the  proper  air  and  tone 
To  composition  all  one's  own. 

Before  I  close 

I  now  propose 
To  tender  thanks  to  each  of  you 
Who've  seen  our  exhibition  through. 
We  hope  hereafter  to  appear 
Before  our  friends  from  year  to  year, 
Until  it  is  each  pupil's  fate, 
With  honors  high  to  graduate. 


GOOD  SHIP,  ALMA  MATER. 

(Valedictory  Poem.) 


THE  good  ship,  alma  mater,  rides  at  anchor  in  the  bay, 
With  all  her  colors  flying,  in  the  summer  wind  to-day, 
Four  years  she  stoutly  bore  us,  but  now  the  ocean's  past, 
And  in  the  hoped-for  haven  she  has  landed  us  at  last. 

O  good  ship,  alma  mater,  we  bid  farewell  to  thee; 
Stand  stately  in  the  harbor,  ride  queen-like  on  the  sea. 
May  never  storm  come  nigh  thee,  may  never  tempest  make 
Thy  mighty  masts  to  quiver,  thine  oaken  sides  to  shake. 

Oh,  you  who  sailed  before  us,  in  the  good  ship  long  ago, 
We  followed  where  you  led  us,  stars  above  and  sea  below. 
You  led  us  like  a  beacon  that  lit  the  seething  foam, 
You  led  us  like  the  glitter  of  a  star  that  pointed  home. 

Oh,  you  who  shall  come  after,  we  give  you  all  God-speed! 
Stand  by  the  alma  mater  and  serve  her  at  her  need, 
Till  you,  too,  pass  the  billows  that  hold  you  from  the  shore, 
Till  you,  too,  ride  at  anchor,  and  plough  the  waves  no  more. 

O  good  ship,  alma  mater,  a  long  farewell  at  last! 
We're  hopeful  for  the  future,  we're  grateful  for  the  past; 
Sail  on  thro'  sunny  waters,  with  more  than  lips  can  tell 
Of  sorrow  at  our  parting,  we  speak  the  last — farewell. 


GRADUATION  DAY  173 

ADIEUX  AU  COLLEGE  DE  BELLEY. 

(Graduation  Day  Poem   in  French.) 


Alphonse  de  Lamartie. 


ASILE  vertueux  qui  formas  mon  enfance 
A  l'amour  des  humains,  a  la  crainte  des  dieuxs 
Ou  je  sauvai  la  fleur  de  ma  tendre  innocence, 
Recois  mes  pleurs  et  mes  adieux. 

Trop  tot  je  t'abandonne,  et  ma  barque  legere, 
Ne  cedant  qu'a  regret  aux  volontes  du  sort, 
Va  se  livrer  aux  flots  d'une  mer  etrangere, 
Sans  gouvernail  et  loin  du  bord. 

O  vous  dont  les  lecons,  less  soins  et  la  tendresse 
Guidaient  mes  faibles  pas  au  sentier  des  vertus, 
Animables  sectateurs  d'une  aimable  sagesse, 
Bientot  je  ne  vous  verrai  plus! 

Non,  vous,  ne  pourrez  plus  condescendre  et  sourire 
A  ces  plaisirs  si  purs,  pleins  d'innocens  appas! 
Sous  le  poids  des  chagrins  si  mon  ame  soupire, 
Vous  ne  la  consolerez  pas. 

En  butte  aux  passions,  au  fort  de  la  tourmente, 
Si  leur  fougue  un  instant  m'ecartait  de  vos  lois, 
Puisse  au  fond  de  mon  coeur  votre  image  vivante 
Me  tenir  lieu  de  votre  voix! 

Qu'elle  allume  en  mon  coeur  un  remords  salutaire! 
Qu'elle  fasse  couler  les  pleurs  du  repentir; 
Et  que  des  passions  l'ivresse  temeraire 
Se  calme  a  votre  souvenir! 

Et  toi,  douce  Amitie,  viens,  recois  mon  hommage; 
Tu  m'as  fait  dans  tes  bras  gouter  des  vrais  plaisirs; 
Ce  dieu  tendre  et  cruel  qui  m'attend  au  passage, 
Ne  fait  naitre  que  des  soupirs. 

Ah!  trop  volage  enfant,  ne  blesse  point  mon  ame 
De  ces  traits  dangereux  puises  dans  ton  carquois! 
Je  veux  que  le  devoir  puisse  approuver  ma  flamme; 
Je  ne  veux  aimer  qu'une  fois. 

Ainsi  dans  la  vertu  ma  jeunesse  formee 
Y  trouvera  toujours  un  appui  tout  nouveau, 
Sur  l'ocean  du  monde  une  route  assuree, 
Et  son  esperance  au  tombeau. 

A  son  dernier  soupir,  mon  ame  defaillante 
Benira  les  mortels  qui  rent  mon  bonheur; 
On  entendra  redire  a  ma  bouche  mourante 
Leurs  noms  si  cheris  de  mon  coeur. 


174  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

ENTERING  AN  UNKNOWN  WORLD. 

(College  Valedictory.) 


WE,  Class  of  19— „  have  arrived  at  the  end  of  our  college  life. 
Duty  bids  us  say  good-bye  to  the  years  of  preparation,  that  we 
may  enter  more  fully  into  the  years  of  action.  Yes,  though  it 
is  an  honor  and  a  triumph  to  be  here  to-day  on  this  platform,  eagerly 
awaiting  the  moment  when  we  shall,  with  beating  hearts,  receive  that 
which  is  most  dear  to  all  college  graduates,  the  Bachelor's  diploma, 
yet  we  cannot  but  feel  the  pain  of  being  torn  from  the  happy  associa- 
tions of  student  life;  from  halls  where,  with  varying  success  and  fail- 
ure, we  endeavored  for  the  sake  of  knowledge, — 

"To    scorn    delights    and   live    laborious    days;" 

from  the  play-grounds,  where  we  so  often  felt  the  enthusiasm  which 
comes  with  victory,  or  the  depression  that  accompanies  defeat;  from 
the  encouraging  and  kindly  presence  of  our  professors,  words  which 
only  coldly  express  the  amiability  which  they  have  manifested  towards 
us.  It  would  be  impossible  for  us,  who  have  had  the  privilege  of  pass- 
ing through  all  the  grades  and  classes  of  — ,  to  enumerate  the  many 

impressions  that  vie  with  one  another  for  recognition  in  our  memories 
to-day.  But  our  college  days  are  no  more.  Never  again  as  students 
shall  we  be  admonished  and  instructed  by  our  professors;  never  again 
shall  we  listen  to  their  words  of  learning  in  the  class-room.  Yet  I  am 
sure  that  all  we  have  learned  by  their  teaching  has  taken  firm  root  in 
our  hearts,  there  to  be,  I  hope,  the  foundation  of  great  and  noble  deeds. 
In  time  to  come,  when  we  recall  these  days,  we  shall  remember  them 
as  happy  ones,  never  to  be  forgotten. 

To  you  also,  fellow-students,  we  must  bid  farewell, — you  among 
whom  we  have  enjoyed  and  spent  many  happy  hours.  Some  of  you, 
perhaps,  we  shall  never  again  see;  but  we  earnestly  hope  and  pray  that 

during  the  years  you  will  remain  here  at  ,  your  life  will  be  as 

happy  and  as  free  from  care  as  was  ours.  And  now,  dear  classmates, 
we  must  bid  a  last  good-bye.  For  years  we  have  been  united  in  all 
our  intentions  and  pursuits;  have  assisted  each  other  in  daily  inter- 
course; and  now,  when  the  day  has  come  which  we  have  so  patiently 
and  yet  so  eagerly  awaited,  a  shadow  casts  a  gloom  over  the  sunshine 
of  our  joy,  because  we  who  have  enjoyed  comradeship  for  so  many 
years  to-day  must  part.  To-day  we  enter  into  a  world  unknown  to  us, 
to  fight  the  battle  of  life  for  which  we  have  endeavored  to  prepare  our- 
selves. We  start  out  alone  in  pursuit  of  honor  and  success.  We  must 
be  upright  in  all  our  dealings  with  others,  if  we  wish  to  obtain  for 
ourselves  respect  and  renown.  We  have  loved,  honored  and  respected 
one  another  during  our  life  here;  let  us,  then,  when  we  are  each  en- 
deavoring to  forge  ahead  in  the  race  of  life,  remember  this,  and  pray 
that  each  of  us  may  obtain  that  success  which  our  college  and  our 
friends  expect  from  us. 

Farewell,  ,  home  of  our    youth,    farewell;    never    shall  the 

scenes  and  pleasures  we  have  enjoyed  within  thy  walls  fade  from  our 
memories;  in  this  our  last  and  prolonged  gaze  all  shall  be  firmly  im- 
printed on  our  hearts.    Not  alone  for  ourselves  shall  we  seek  fame  and 


GRADUATION  DAY  175 

prosperity,  but  for  you  also  shall  we  endeavor  to  attain  and  possess 
these  worldly  goods  and  honors.  Success,  happiness,  whatever  may  be 
obtained  in  our  future  career,  all — all  of  it  will  be  attributed  with  grate- 
ful hearts  to  alma  mater  by  the  Class  of  19 ■. 


"GOOD-BY." 

(Valedictory  Poem.) 


THE  golden  glow  of  a  summer's  day 
Rests  over  the  verdant  hills, 
And  the  sunlight  falls  with  mellow  ray 
On  fields  and  laughing  rills; 
But  ere  its  last  beam  fades  away 

Beyond  the  mountain  high, 
Our  lips  must  bravely,  sadly  say 
The  parting  words,  "Good-by." 

Kind  friends  and  parents  gathered  here, 

Our  gratitude  is  yours, 
For  all  your  care  and  sympathy, 

Which  changelessly  endures. 
We've  tried  to  use  the  passing  hours 

So  they  would  bring  no  sigh, 
When  to  our  happy  days  of  school 

We  say  our  last  "Good-by." 

Dear  teachers,  we  shall  ne'er  forget 

The  lessons  you  have  taught: 
We  trust  the  future  may  perfect 

The  work  your  hands  have  wrought; 
And  may  they  bring  good  gifts  to  you, 

These  years  that  swiftly  fly, 
And  may  you  kindly  think  of  those 

Who  bid  you  now  "Good-by." 

"Good-by!"  it  shall  not  be  farewell, — 

We  hope  again  to  meet; 
But  happy  hours  are  ever  short, 

And  days  of  youth  are  fleet. 
There's  much  to  learn,  and  much  to  do; 

Oh,  may  our  aims  be  high, 
And  ever  lead  toward  that  bright  land, 

Where  none  shall  say,  "Good-by." 


O  woman!  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,   cov,  and  hard  to  please, 
And  variable  as  the  shade 
By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made; 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou. 

—Walter  Scott, 


PART  VII. 
Graduation  Day  Programs 


GRADUATION  PROGRAM  HINTS. 


Ruth  B.  Dame. 


GRADUATION  programs,  to  be  thoroughly  representative  and 
appropriate,  should  present  outline  of  work  of  class  during  the 
entire  year.  The  most  effective  graduation  program  should  be 
centered  about  one  idea.  Some  of  the  simplest  ideas  of  this  kind  are 
from  the  world  of  nature — flower  or  tree  program.  This  appeals  to 
children,  and  does  not  require  great  preparation.  Flowers,  songs, 
poetry,  with  short  compositions  by  different  children,  are  easily  found 
and  arranged.  Birds  also  are  readily  converted  into  graduation  ma- 
terial. These  should  all,  however,  have  received  distinct  attention  by 
the  whole  class,  and  appreciative  walks  should  have  laid  the  founda- 
tions of  fresh  enthusiasm.  Study  of  famous  buildings,  during  school 
year,  forms  basis  of  a  successful  graduation  program.  Pictures — cheap 
good  pictures  are  obtainable — are  a  great  aid.  Teachers  can  supple- 
ment with  history  of,  and  legends  connected  with,  famous  buildings; 
children  may  write  compositions  on  the  buildings.  It  is  easy  to  illus- 
trate by  comparing  the  arches,  columns  of  buildings  in  town. 

Graduation  program  may  begin  with  the  Egyptian  pyramids.  A 
composition  on  the  labor  of  the  captive  Jews,  secret  chambers  and' 
mummies  of  kings  and  hieroglyphic  hands  uplifted  in  supplication  for 
food,  may  be  followed  by  a  recitation  of  Napoleon  before  the  pyramids. 
There  is  enough  in  this  recitation  to  fire  any  child's  imagination.  Next 
comes  the  Parthenon.  In  connection  with  this  children  should  knew 
the  position,  early  choice  cf  the  Acropolis  for  a  stronghold,  story  of 
Persian  wars,  abandonment  of  Athens  for  safety  of  Greece;  then,  as 
citizens  return  to  their  safe  but  ruined  homes,  rebuilding  of  city  about 
base  of  hill  and  consecration  of  the  Acropolis  to  Athena.  The  legend 
of  Poseidon  and  Athena,  with  contest  of  horse  and  olive-tree,  is 
learned  with  stories  in  sculpture  over  the  pediment.  The  Parthenon 
frieze  gives  opportunity  for  a  splendid  picture  of  the  Panathenaic  pro- 
cession winding  up  the  steps  at  the  west  and  around  the  Acropolis. 
The  gold  and  ivory  statue  by  Phidias  and  the  bronze  image  on  the  hill, 
made  from  the  arms  of  the  defeated  Persians,  are  also  extremely  in- 
teresting; one  almost  sees  the  sailors  watching  far  out  to  sea  for  the 
flash  of  Athena's  great  bronze  spear.  A  splendid  narrative  poem  to 
accompany  this  comes  directly  from  iEschylus  himself,  in  the  account 
given  of  the  battle  of  Salamis.  History  runs  easily  from  Greece  to 
Rome  and  the  Colosseum,  and  compares  games  of  Athenians  in  their 
Panathenaic  festival  with  brutal  gladiatorial  combats  of  Romans.  Tra- 
ditions are  found  in  Miss  Bronte's  "Golden  Deeds,"  in  "The  Last  Fight 
in  the  Colosseum."  "The  Death  of  Gaudentis"  is  an  effective  com- 
panion-piece. "The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii"  furnishes  material  as  easily 
adapted  as  the  arena  scene  from  "Quo  Vadis."  The  story  ends  in 
Christian  Rome;  the  step  is  quickly  taken  from  Rome  to  the  great 

(Werner's    Readings   No.    55 — page    176) 


GRADUATION  DAY  177 

Christian  Gothic  cathedrals.  An  account  could  be  well  inserted  of  the 
Alhambra,  with  Irving  as  an  aid. 

Christian  cathedrals  have  much  to  interest  children.  Form  of  the 
cross  in  which  they  are  built  should  be  mentioned,  crypt  of  the  saints, 
and  the  long  arched  aisles,  through  which  filed,  in  solemn  procession, 
with  singing  and  swinging  of  incense,  sweet-voiced  choir-boys  and 
cardinals  in  scarlet  robes.  The  enthusiasm  which  fastened  men  and 
women  to  carts  to  drag  stones  of  the  great  cathedral  up  the  hill  to 
Chartres,  while  they  confessed  their  sins  in  pauses,  is  stirring,  after  all 
these  centuries.  Little  technical  knowledge  can  be  easily  understood 
of  the  great  glass  sides  of  the  French  cathedral,  through  which  the 
sun  streamed  into  the  church  and  the  bulwarks  and  pinnacles  that  car- 
ried the  weight  of  the  roof  from  the  frail  walls.  Durham  and  St.  Cuth- 
bert  are  a  good  choice,  with  the  story  told  by  Scott  in  "Marmion." 
Canterbury  is  perhaps  even  better,  for  to  Canterbury  came  Roman 
monks  in  response  to  Pope  Gregory's  famous  words  of  English  cap- 
tives, "Non  Angli,  sed  Angeli."  St.  Dunstan  and  his  contest  with  the 
devil  follows,  and  then  Thomas  a  Becket  and  the  Canterbury  pilgrims. 

Then,  still  choosing  representative  buildings,  we  may  skip  from  the 
old  world  to  the  new  and  select  the  most  famous  old  building  of  which 
the  children  have  personal  knowledge.  Fanueil  Hall,  Boston,  offers 
excellent  material,  and  can  be  accompanied  by  Whittier's  poem.  Every 
teacher's  knowledge  will  suggest  available  buildings. 


RURAL  SCHOOL  COMMENCEMENT. 


Margaret  Gordon. 

FOLLOWING  program  is  based  on  supposition  that  teachers  in 
rural  district  have  park  or  woods  available.  In  case  of  bad 
weather,  schoolroom  may  be  transformed  into  wood  scene. 

Monday. — School  is  called  at  usual  time.  Promotions  and  rear- 
rangment  of  classes  are  attended  to.  Pupils,  wearing  class-colors, 
march  in  classes  to  park  or  woods  where  lunch  is  served,  coffee  or 
cocoa  being  made  oyer  bonfires,  followed  by  picnic  frolics. 

Tuesday. — Class  Day.  Program  may  be  given  at  school  or  out- 
doors. If  given  outdoors,  and  if  boy  is  class  historian  he  may  be 
dressed  in  Mother  Gcose  costume  as  the  Wise  Man  "who  scratched 
out  both  his  eyes,"  boy  being  blindfolded  and  repeating  the  history  as 
if  he  were  blind.  Another  feature  is  a  hypnotic  stunt.  Two  boys 
dressed  as  professors  of  occultism — long  ulsters,  silk  hats,  white  spats, 
gloves,  etc. — give  class  history  together.  One  boy  represents  hypnotist 
professor,  while  other  boy  is  the  victim,  who,  being  in  hypnotic  con- 
dition and  therefore  not  responsible,  gives  away  class  secrets.  If  girl 
is  class  historian,  she  may  appear  as  Mother  Hubbard,  who  goes  to 
cupboard,  and,  finding  it  bare,  recites  rhyme  telling  where  she  went, 
what  she  found  out  about  her  class  and  their  past.  Class  poem  may 
be  read  by  "lost  child,"  who  proves  that  she  was  lost  trying  to  find 
material  for  her  poem.  If  exercises  are  outdoors,  classes  circle  or  march 
round  bonfires  singing  their  respective  class  songs.  If  gifts  to  teach- 
ers or  outgoing  class  are  made,  they  should  be  presented  on  this  day. 
Every  Senior  should  take  part  in  program. 


178  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Wednesday. — Clearing  up  of  year's  work  and  preparing  for  the 
morrow.  At  evening  Senior  class  may  hold  formal  reception  either  at 
school  or  at  private  house.  Girls  carry  flowers.  Such  a  function  is 
taking  the  place  of  the  old-fashioned  platform  bedecked  with  floral 
gifts. 

Thursday. — Graduation  Day.  Exercises  may  be  held  either  indoors 
or  outdoors.  Graduating  essays  are  giving  place  to  an  address  by 
prominent  person,  by  whose  coming  audience  is  better  pleased  and 
school  is  brought  into  greater  prominence.  A  unique  feature,  in  one 
school,  was  originated  by  a  boy  saying,  "let's  do  it  up  brown;"  where- 
upon all  boys  wore  brown  suits,  brown  shoes,  brown  gloves,  straw 
hats  with  brown  bands.  Girls  wore  white  dresses,  brown  shoes,  brown 
ribbons,  brown  parasols.  Another  school  reports  presenting  stage-pic- 
ture called  "Rainbow  of  Promise."  Stage  was  draped  in  gray  and  lav- 
ender class-colors.  Girl  graduates  wore  gowns  and  mortarboard  hats 
of  different  rainbow  colors.  The  one  boy  graduate  wore  purple  cap  and 
gown.  Pupils  sat  in  semicircle  to  form  rainbow.  Graduates  read  short 
essays  and  were  presented  with  diplomas. 


GRADUATION  DAY  PRIZE  CONTEST. 


IN  many  boys'  schools  it  is  the  custom  each  spring  to  select  a  dozen 
boys  who  have  done  the  best  work  in  elocution  throughout  the 
year,  and  allow  them  to  appear  in  a  prize  contest.  From  these 
twelve  boys,  the  six  whose  work  is  deemed  best  by  the  committee,  are 
chosen  to  appear  on  program.  Below  is  a  program  which  may  be 
given  exactly  as  it  reads,  or  may  be  subject  to  any  changes  deemed 
suitable.    All  pieces  have  been  tried,  and  have  proved  attractive. 

PROGRAM  FOR  BOYS. 

1.  Race   for   Life J.    Fenimore    Cooper 

2.  Capture   of  Major  Andre    .  ...Chauncey  M.   Depew 

3.  Elijah  Brown. 

4.  Bob    Henry  W.  Grady 

5.  James  Henry  in  School Emily  Selinger 

6.  Festival  of  Mars   :  . .  Eldridge  S.  Brooks 

7.  Franz Wells    T.    Hawks 

8.  Jest  of  Fate    , ,. Sam  W.   Foss 

9.  Sunshine  Johnson. 

10.  The  Dollar   Walter  S.  Logan 

11.  Siege  of  Cuautla:  Bunker  Hill  of  Mexico.  .Walter  S.  Logan 

12.  Ole  Bull's   Christmas Wallace   Bruce 

13.  Garfield ^ Frank    Fuller 

PROGRAM  FOR  GIRLS. 

1.  Rose  of  Rome George  Henry  Galpin 

2.  Naughty    Little    Comet Ella    Wheeler   Wilcox 

3.  Ballad  of  Sweet  P Virginia  W.  Cloud 

4.  Sally   Ann's   Experience Eliza   C.   Hall 

5.  My  Childhood's  Love. Charles  Kingsley 

6.  Tarpeia    Louise  Imogen  Guiney 

7.  When  George  Was  King Theodosia  Pickering 

8.  Trying  the  "Rose  Act" Marietta   Holley 

9.  The   Witch    Virginia   W.    Cloud 

10.  Bud's  Charge   Louis  E.  Van  Norman 

(All  these  selections  are  in  "Werner's  Readings  and  Recita- 
tions No.   22" — 35  cents  in  paper,  60  cents  in  cloth  binding.) 


PART   VIII. 
Graduation  Day  Gifts 


GIFT  TO  A  GIRL  GRADUATE. 


Carolyn  Wells. 


SUITABLE  gift  may  be  made  from  blank-book  or  scrap-book  filled 
with  scraps  or  incidents  from  school  or  college-life.  If  blank- 
book  is  used,  cut  out  groups  of  four  to  six  leaves  at  intervals 
throughout  book.  Cover  design  may  be  pen-and-ink  sketch  pasted  on 
cover,  with  name  of  book  in  center,  or  anything  else  ornamental, 
made  as  elaborate  as  desired.  Name  of  book  may  be  "A  Day  in  June." 
Decorate  first  inside  page  in  form  of  frame  and  into  frame  insert  photo- 
graph of  maker  of  book.    Under  photograph  write: 

"An  unlessoned  girl,  unschooled,  unpraeticed; 
Happy   in  this,   she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But   she   may  learn."  — Shakespeare. 

On  opposite  page  begin  "Contents,"  arranged  alphabetically  and  giv- 
ing page  where  each  thing  is  found.  Make  "Contents"  pages  as  at- 
tractive as  possible.  Write  "Contents"  on  right-hand  page  only.  In 
middle  of  next  (left-hand)  page,  write: 

"The  world  is  so  full  of  a  number  of  things, 
I'm  sure  we  should  all  be  as  happy  as  kings." 

— Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

Around  quotation  make  marginal  sketches  of  books,  fans,  flowers,  tea- 
cups, pictures,  bicycle,  boat,  banjo,  golf-stick,  or  any  special  hint  of 
recreation  your  friend  is  fond  of.  Next  left-hand  page  is  devoted  to 
picture  of  schoolhouse  or  college  buildings.  Decorate  around  picture 
and  write  name  of  school  under  picture.    Just  below  design  write: 

"Still  sits  the  schoolhouse  by  the  road." 

— Whittier. 

Next  pages  are  used  for  photographs  of  favorite  teachers.  Arrange 
group  of  bordered  spaces  for  insertion  of  photographs.  Place  follow- 
ing quotation  at  beginning  of  photographs: 

"I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy, 
As  in  a  soul  remembering  my  good  friends." 

—-Shakespeare. 

Page  (having  pretty  border)  for  teachers'  autographs  may  have  series 
of  lines  indicating  place  for  each  teacher's  name.  At  bottom  of  page 
put: 

"Taught  thee  each  hour  one  thing  or  another." 

—Shakespeare. 

Class  photograph  page  should  have  attractive  border.    Beneath  border: 

"A  bevy  of  fair  women." 

— Milton. 

Page  for  class  members'  autographs  should  have  under  last  name: 

"Companions 

That  do  converse  and  waste  the  time  together, 
Whose  souls  do  bear  an  equal  yoke  of  love." 

—Shakespeare. 

(Werner's   Readings    No.    55 — page    179) 


180  WERNER'S  READINGS' NO.  55 

Page  for  class-colors  should  either  have  class-colors  painted  in,  or  bits 
of  ribbons  forming  class-colors  sewed  or  pasted  in.  A  pretty  idea  is 
to  sketch  a  flag-pole,  from  top  of  which  floats  tiny  silk  flag  represent- 
ing class-colors.     Below,  put  quotation: 

"Thoughts,   master,   are  masked   under   such   colors." 

—Shakespeare. 

Class-motto  page:  Write  motto  in  center  of  upper  half  of  page.  In 
lower  half  of  page  paste  or  paint  in  class-flower,  under  which  write: 

"Hast  thou  the  flower  there?" 

—Shakespeare 

Class-yell  page:  If  yell  is  musical,  draw  music  staff  with  requisite 
notes.  If 'yell  is  simply  spoken  jargon^  print  it  in  bright  colors,  with 
comic  heads  screaming  with  all  their  might,  or  use  any  other  funny 
conceit.  If  faces  are  too  difficult,  draw  in  a  crowing  hen.  Write  below 
yell  and  decorations: 

"With   timid   accents  and  dire  yell." 

— Shakespeare 

"I  should  think  your  tongue  had  broken  its  chain." 

— Longfellow. 

Page  of  grinds:  Decorate  page  with  jester's  stick,  cap  and  bells.  Be- 
low decorations  put: 

"A  college  joke   to  cure  the  dumps." 

— Dean  Swift. 

For  class-day  program  page  use  tiny  decorations  in  corners,  leaving 
plenty  of  space  for  program  to  be  pasted  in.     Put  at  bottom  of  page: 

"To  try  thy  eloquence,  now   'tis  time." 

■ — Shakespeare 

Commencement  gown  page:  If  white  muslin  gown  is  worn,  charming 
effect  may  be  made  by  decorating  gown  with  tiny  flowers,  gloves, 
slippers,  lace  handkerchief,  and  any  other  accessories  of  costume.  Or 
if  college  cap  and  gown  are  worn,  use  design  of  Portia-like  maiden, 
dressed  in  black  silk  gown  and  mortarboard.  Put  below  flowers  or 
design: 

"And  in  a  college  gown 
That   clad  her  like  an  April  daffodilly." 

— Tennyson. 

Newspaper  clippings  page:  Use  corner  decorations  of  ink-bottle  and 
quills,  or  clipping-shears  and  paste-pot.   Place  at  bottom  of  page: 

"Praise  me  not  too  much, 
~&or  blame  me,  for  thou  speakest  to  the  Greeks, 
Who  know  me." 

— Bryant's    "Homer's    Iliad." 

Other  pages  may  be  added.  On  last  page  of  book  put  either  of  fol- 
lowing quotations: 

"Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever; 

Do  noble  things,  not  dream  them  all  day  long." 
— Charles  Kingsley. 
"The   child  is   a  woman,  the  book  may  close  over, 

For  ail  the  lessons  are  said." 

— Jean  iugelow. 


PART  IX. 
Graduation  Day  Plays 


GRADUATION  AT  MISS  LURCH'S  BOARDING- 
SCHOOL. 

(Burlesque   Play.) 


Ella  F.  Eastman. 


Characters. 

THE  FACULTY. 

MISS  LURCH — Principal  and  Professor  of  Vocal  Music. 

MARGARET   PRIMEVIL,   A.   B. — Mathematics. 

MLLE.  REUCHE — French   and  German. 

ROX1E   SWIRBUCKLER,  A.  M.— Sciences. 

RODERICKA  RANDOM,  Ph.  D. — Greek. 

JEAN  LIND,  Ph.  D.— English. 

ARDEIXE   FA  SALLE. — Violin. 

ANN  SWITZER — Piano. 

CARL  VIBERG,  A.  B.,  A.  M.,  Ph.  D. 

THE    GRADUATES. 

ANN   SPITZPOODLE,  FAITH   PURITAS, 

JEAN   DOOLITTLE,  HENRIETTA  MARYLAND, 

MARGUERITE   TACOMBER,  HELENE   ASHTREE, 

NELL   ANN   TEWKSBURY,  DOROTHEA   LIZZARD, 

ALICE    MARIA    WIGGLESWORTH,  EMMA   GROSBERGER. 

Costumes  and   Music:     Costumes  are  simple,  and  to  suit  characters. 

If  desired,  piano  music  may  be  substituted  for  orchestra. 
Scene:     Platform;  class-motto  on  wall  at  back  of  platform,  "Nihil  Sine 

Lahore."    At  rise  of  curtain,  faculty,  principal,  and  Dr.  Viberg  are 

on  platform.     All  remain  standing  until   Graduates   march   upon 

platform,  then  all  sit  at  same  time. 
Time  of  playing:     Forty  minutes. 

PROGRAM. 

March Ann   Switzer 

Selection    Orchestra 

Salutatory Alice    Maria    Wiggles  worth 

Class  History Nell  Ann   Tewksbury 

Selection  Orchestra 

Oration    Faith    Puritas 

Address Carl   Viberg 

Class    Prophecy Helene    Ashtree 

Selection    Orchestra 

Class    Poem Marguerite    Tacomber 

Class   Will Jean    Doolittle 

Selection    Orchestra 

Valedictory    Ann    Spitzpoodle 

Selection    Orchestra 

Conferring   of  Diplomas Miss    Lurch 

Singing  of  the  Class  Ode By  Class 

Parting   Word    Carl    Viberg 

(Werner's  Readings   No.   55 — page  181) 


182  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

SALUTATORY. 

Gallia  est  omnis  divisa  in  partis  tris,  quarum  imam  incolunt  Belgae, 
aliam  Aquitani,  tertiam  qui  ipsorum  lingua  Celtae,  nostra  Galli  appel- 
lantur.  Hi  omnes  lingua,  institutis,  legibus  inter  se  differunt.  Gallos 
ab  Aquitanis  Garumna  flumen,  a  Belgis  Matrona  et  Sequana  dividit. 

CLASS    HISTORY. 

It  was  in  September,  ,  when  the  famous  Class  of  filed 

in  order  to  the  chapel  to  receive  its  first  words  of  welcome  from  cur 
much  beloved  principal,  Miss  Lurch.  We  received  thorough  instruc- 
tion in  manners,  street  conduct,  diet,  and  all  that  goes  to  make  a 
boarding-school  complete.  One  famous  incident  I  remember  happened 
ct  our  first  chapel  meeting, — Ann  Spitzpoodle  was  on  time,  the  only 
time  in  her  four  years  at  Lurch's.  Our  first  year  was  spent  in  begin- 
ning Latin,  algebra  and  French,  most  of  our  classes  being  with  Miss 
Lurch,  much  to  our  disgust  and  horror.  Helene  Ashtree  was  caught 
using  a  "trot"  during  our  first  week  in  Latin,  and,  as  punishment,  was 
obliged  to  recite  a  poem  in  Latin  at  each  chapel  exercise  for  the  rest 
cf  the  term.  Many  of  our  class  distinguished  themselves  in  algebra 
by  flunking  the  first  term,  which,  Miss  Lurch  declared,  was  the  result 
of  eating  too  many  sweets  and  attending  too  many  midnight  spreads. 
Although  we  were  Freshmen,  we  were  after  all  treated  very  kindly  by 
the  upper  classmen.  In  fact,  our  only  punishment  was  our  weekly 
reception  to  the  faculty  which  was  exceedingly  boresome  and  exas- 
perating. 

However,  with  various  experiences  and  trials,  we  entered  the  sec- 
end  year  of  cur  career  with  several  additional  members  to  our  class, 
among  them,  Faith  Puritas,  who  became  a  favorite  of  Miss  Lurch's  for 
her  precise  manner  and  wonderful  command  of  language.  Miss  Lurch 
said  that  Faith  used  less  slang  than  any  other  girl-  she  had  had  in 
school.  During  cur  Sophomore  year  we  gained  wonderful  confidence 
in  ourselves,  so  much  so  that  Alice  Maria  Wigglesworth  tested  her 
fire-escape  and  fell  three  stories,  coming  out  with  only  a  sprained  ankle, 
much  to  the  jcy  of  her  classmates.  Dorothea  Lizzard,  always  wishing 
to  manage  the  dormitory,  took  Miss  Greenwood's  place  one  night,  rang 
the  last  bell  and  called  forth,  much  to  her  surprise,  Miss  Greenwood 
clad  in  night  attire.  There  were  rousing  shouts  from  the  corridors, — 
Dorothea's  aim  was  accomplished.  Miss  Greenwood  was  at  last  seen 
as  her  real  self,  all  artificiality  left  behind  in  her  room.  One  evening, 
near  the  end  of  our  second  year,  Miss  Lurch  announced  in  chapel  that 
her  Sophomore  class  was  the  finest  in  French  she  ever  had  had.  ^There- 
upon the  whole  class  rose  and  gave  her  the  "Chautauqua  salute,"  which 
we  had  been  taught  by  Miss  Lurch  was  the  highest  honor  that  could 
be  paid  to  a  person. 

Thus  we  entered  our  Junior  year  filled  with  the  hopes  of  having 
but  one  more  year  in  the  Lurch  penitentiary.  Some  of  our  class  this 
year  were  caught  breaking  the  food  rule  and  were  seen  to  crawl  out  of 

the  cellar  window  in Tea-Room  by  Miss  Lind,  our  much-beloved 

English  teacher.  Jean  Doolittle,  who  had  a  reputation  for  eating  more 
than  anyone,  was  the  victim  of  the  worst  punishment.  She  became 
caught  in  the  window  and  could  not  move  until  assisted  by  the  police. 

Now  for  the  grand  old  Senior  year,  some  of  us  to  go  on  to  college, 


GRADUATION  DAY  183 

others    to    make   their  debut    in    the  most   gorgeous  of  society. 

Each  Monday  afternoon  of  this  year  was  devoted  to  etiquette,  how  to 
use  good  grammar,  the  introduction  of  society  slang,  which  was  one 
of  the  most  pleasing  features  of  Miss  Lurch's.  Our  annual  Senior 
I  "Prom."  gave  us  the  first  chance  of  dancing  a  round  dance  with  a 
young  gentleman,  leaving  the  dear  old  square  dances  for  Miss  Lurch 
and  the  undergraduates.  So  to-day  we  stand  on  the  threshold  of  march- 
ing out  into  the  world,  having  spent  four  years  of  varied  experiences 
in  this  our  dear  old  boarding-school. 

CLASS    ORATION. 

This  part  is  omitted.  It  is  a  false  part.  Miss  Lurch  says  in  regard 
*o  it:  "My  dear  friends,  the  Class  Oration  will  be  omitted  this  after- 
noon, as  Faith  Puritas  has  been  taken  suddenly  ill  with  an  attack  of 
angina  pectoris.  It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  have  with  us  this  after- 
noon Dr.  Carl  Viberg,  who  will  address  the  graduating  class.  Dr. 
Viberg  is  known  not  only  in  Paris,  New  York,  and  Chicago,  but  in  all 
the  United  States  as  well— Dr.  Viberg." 

DR.  VIBERG. 

Miss  Lurch,  Members  of  the  Graduating  Class,  and  Friends:    It 

gives  me  the  most  ecstatic  pleasure  to-day,  after  traveling  from 

to  ,  to  greet  you.  It  was  but  a  short  time  ago  that  I  was  read- 
ing in  the  "Astrological  Phenomena"  that  boarding-schools  are  the  most 
fit  place  for  woman.  The  equilibrium  and  the  superabundant  acquire- 
ments of  all  the  classics  and  the  use  of  applied  science  in  promulgat- 
ing the  art  of  gastronomy  tend  to  make  woman  an  encyclopedia  of 
scientific  idioms.  Thomas  A.  Edison  says,  I  believe,  "Haste  makes 
waste,"  so  I  beg  you  in  all  your  tasks  of  life  to  take  everything  with 
due  deliberation,  always  mindful  that,  whatever  calling  in  life  you  may 
embrace,  there  is  nothing  on  this  mundane  sphere  approximating  a 
profound,  well  concatenated  ratiocination. 

CLASS    PROPHECY. 

'Tis  June;  the  warm  air  of  summer  blew  softly  about  me,  as  I  sat 
on  the  veranda  awaiting  the  airship  which  was  to  take  me  on  a  pleas- 
ure trip,  after  my  hard  year's  work  as  a  teacher.  Hark!  a  buzzing  and 
a  humming  sound!  Oh,  yes,  here  was  the  machine.  I  seized  my  suit- 
case; and,  as  the  ship  was  well  filled,  I  was  obliged  to  sit  near  the 
front.    I  did  not  care,  however,  as  I  wanted  to  see  all  the  sights.     The 

first  place  we  stopped  at  was ,  one  of  the  leading  suffrage  cities. 

In  fact,  every  important  position  in was  filled  by  a  woman,  with 

Ann  Spitzpoodle  Chief  of  Police,  Faith  Puritas  Judge  of  Police  Court, 
Alice  Maria  Wigglesworth  Chairman  of  the  Board  of  Aldermen.  These 
dear  classmates  seemed  indeed  happy  in  their  various  vocations.     As 

for  myself,  coming  from  as  I  did,  I  had  that  gaunt  feeling,  a 

person  usually  has,  after  a  year  of  hard  labor  and  struggle.     A  cup  of 

coffee,  in  this  state  of  my  feelings,  obtained  at  the  Hotel,  now 

managed  by  Henrietta  Maryland,  revived  me,  and  I  was  able  to  walk 

Up Street  like  a  new  person.    A  glance  at  various  signs  attracted 

my  attention,  but  one  more  than  the  others.     1  read  in  an  excited  st~"  J 
of  mind  "Nell  Ann  Tewksbury,  Pension  Claim  Agent,  Estates  ° 
Justice  of  the  Peace  " 


184  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Times!"  " Times!"  came  a  shrill  cry  from  a  news- 


boy, "all  about  the  change  in  ownership  of  Lurch's  Famous  Boarding- 
school."  Yes,  there  in  large  red  headlines,  were  the  Words:  "Jean 
Doolittle,  now  prominent  in  educational  circles,  becomes  principal  and 

owner  of  Miss  Lurch's  Boarding-school."     Taking  a    car  up    > • 

Street,  I  was  sternly  saluted  by  Marguerite  Tacomber  as  motorman,  and 
by  Dorothea  Lizzard,  as  conductor,  both  exceedingly  efficient  and  trust- 
worthy in  their  positions.    " 's,  the  largest  dry-goods  store  in  the 

city  of  — ,"  cried  the  conductor.  I  hastened  to  the  car-door,  and, 
after  the  usual  trouble  in  alighting  from  a  crowded  street-car,  I  en- 
tered this  remarkable  store.  Emma  Grosberger  was  buyer  and  floor- 
walker in  the  tango  sash  department,  and  I  "learned  later  was  very  well 

known  in  her  line  of  work.     But  the  time  for  returning  to  had 

arrived.  I  pressed  a  button,  and,  as  if  by  magic,  the  airship  awaited  me 
to  leave  ■ ,  a  city  much  to  my  heart's  delight. 

CLASS    POEM. 

Now,  hark,  the  tolling  of  the  curfew-bell, 
Its  ringing  seems  to  say  that  all  is  well; 
Nay,  'tis  not  so  within  each  throbbing  heart 
As  on  life's  journey  we'll  soon  depart. 

Oh,  thou,  tedious  study  who  greets  each  dawn, 
Aye  for  e'er  thou  wilt  live  when  we  are  gone; 
Thou  hast  made  us  humble  servants  of  thine; 
Ah,  thou  hast  led  us  by  thy  hand  divine. 

Now  our  weary  eyes  are  filled  with  tears 
As  we  oft  look  back  on  these  four  years; 
Oh,  Faculty,  beloved,  and  Miss  Lurch  too, 
You  have  helped  us  in  our  work  to  do. 

Farewell  to  these  classic  halls  of  fame, 
We'll  ever  glory  in  thy  grand  old  name; 
Victory  be  our  watchword  for  thee 
As  now  we  launch  upon  life's  restless  sea. 

Thou  art  alma  mater,  to  us  so  dear 
That  we  shall  cherish  thee  year  by  year; 
Farewell,  farewell,  this  day  to  thee  we'll  say, 
As  in  this  great  world  we  shall  make  our  way. 

CLASS  WILL,. 

Be  it  known  that  we,  Class  of ,  of  the  Lurch  Boarding-school, 

in  the  County  of ,  and  State  of ,  being  of  sound  and  dis- 
posing mind  and  memory,  do  make,  publish  and  declare  this  instru- 
ment to  be  our  last  will  and  testament,  hereby  revoking  all  former 
wills  by  us  made.  (1)  We  order  our  executor  hereinafter  named  to 
pay  all  of  our  just  debts.  (2)  We  give  and  bequeath  the  sum  of  forty- 
nine  cents  to  be  used  as  a  permanent  fund  in  remodeling  Miss  Lurch's 
sleeves  and  dresses  in  general.    (3)  We  give  and  bequeath  all  the  flow- 

^and  ribbons  worn  by  us  to-day  to  the  Class  of  ■ — -,  to  be  used 

\m  in  decorating  for  their  Commencement  exercises.     (4)   We 

bequeath  to  Miss  Lurch  the  use  of  all  slang  and  the  right  to 

ie  hesitation  waltz,  the  tango,  one-step,  Venus  waltz,  and  all 


GRADUATION  DAY  185 

the  rags.  (5)  We  give  and  bequeath  to  Dr.  Primevil,  our  "Math." 
teacher,  the  right  to  prohibit  the  use  of  all  originals  in  geometry.  (6) 
We  give  and  bequeath  the  sum  of  $1.49  for  the  purpose  of  purchasing  a 
room  in  cold  storage  in  which  to  preserve  the  white  lilacs  in  Miss 
Lurch's  hair.  (7)  We  give  and  bequeath  to  the  Lurch  Boarding-school 
all  the  residue  in  our  class  treasury  for  the  purpose  of  purchasing 
plenty  of  food  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  our  everyday  menu.  (8)  We 
give  and  bequeath  all  our  slashed  skirts,  Marcel  waves,  and  French 
heeled  slippers,  to  Miss  Lind,  our  English  teacher.  (9)  We  give  and 
bequeath  all  our  discords,  classic  music,  and  broken  violin  strings  to 
Mile.  La  Salle,  our  violin  teacher.  (10)  We  give  and  bequeath  the  right 
to  break  all  rules,  and  our  privilege  of  giving  "Chautauqua  salutes"  to 
celebrities  who  shall  visit  the  school  in  coming  years,  to  the  Class  of 

.     Signed,  sealed    and    declared    by  the  above-named    Class    of 

to  be  their  last  will  and  testament  in  the  presence  of  us  who 

at  their  request  have  signed  our  names  as  witnesses  thereto. 

Amos    Knowlittle    Babcock, 
Arthur  Wilbur  Snobbish, 
William  Dunster  Dingley. 

VALEDICTORY. 

Farewell!  Farewell!  Oh,  dear  old  halls  of  Lurch.  May  slang  be 
used  and  rules  be  broken!   Take  this  as  a  parting  word  from  the  Class 

of .    We  are  in  many  ways  sorry  to  leave  the  dear  old  school  and 

the  gym.  For  what  shall  we  do  without  our  Indian-clubs  and  dumb- 
bells? We'll  die  for  want  of  breaking  rules,  and  how  sad  we'll  feel  not 
to  be  able  to  return  and  get  some  of  those  stewed  prunes  and  rice  with 
syrup.  But  still  another  thought,  the  saddest  of  all,  comes  to  our 
minds  as  we  look  into  the  future  and  know  that  we  too  shall  soon  look 
like  Miss  Lurch,  a  prim,  sedate  maiden  lady.  To  the  honored  faculty 
we  owe  many  thanks;  we  wish  to  impress  upon  them  that,  though  we'll 
not  be,  back  another  year,  we  weep,  yes  "melancholy,"  because  we 
never  can  be  as  learned  as  they  are.  We  can  say,  however,  that  we  are 
"deelighted"  to  be  able  to  do  the  round  dances  with  the  gallant  young 
men  and  leave  the  dear  old  square  dances  to  Miss  Lurch.  To  you, 
dear  classmates,  who  have  been  kind  friends  of  mine  through  all  the 
scrapes  which  I  have  passed  in  these  four  years,  I  greet  and  thank  you 
this  day.  Let  us  say  to  each  other  as  I  believe  Brutus  said  to  Cassius: 
"Do  or  Die"  in  all  the  hard  tasks  of  life. 

Oh,  school  days  that  are  now  past, 
Thy  bonds   have  ever  held  us  fast; 
Farewell — I  bid  Faculty,   Principal,  and 
Classmates,  Farewell! 

CONFERRING    DIPLOMAS. 

It  is  with  a  feeling  of  deep  regret  that  I  graduate  you  a  class  of 
noble  and  pure-minded  young  v/omen.  You  are  to  me  as  beautiful 
roses  who  bud  and  blossom  and  flit  away  into  life's  hallways  never  to 
return  again.  In  all  my  fifty-eight  years  as  promoter  of  education  I 
never  have  graduated  a  class  with    such  high    honors  as  the    Class  of 

.     Some  of  you,  it  seems  to  me,  have  reached  the  very  acme  of 

etiquette  and  scholarship  and  these  are  upon  my  honor  list.  [Reads.] 
Marguerite  Tacomber,  Faith  Puritas,  Emma  Grosberger,  Alice  Maria 


186  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Wigglesworth.  It  deeply  grieves  me,  however,  to  say  that  some  of 
you  must  needs  receive  smaller  diplomas  than  others,  for  you  were 
caught  dancing  the  tango  and  did  not  have  your  lights  out  at  nine- 
forty-five.     Class  of will  now  rise  to  receive  diplomas. 

CLASS    ODE. 
(Air:     "America.") 

The  parting  day  is  here, 
From  friends  so  true  and  dear; 
From  these  halls  gay, 
We'll  ne'er  forget  the  place, 
Nor   Miss   Lurch's  kindly  face 
So  now,  we'll  say  with  grace, 
Farewell,  to-day. 

PARTING  WORD, 

Let  these  be  the  final  words  which  I  desire  to  impress  upon  you? 
"Hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star." 


VILLAGE  VIEW  DEBATING-CLUB. 

(Negro-Dialect  Comedy.) 


Helen  E.  Brown. 


CHARACTERS. 


Chairman. 
Secretary. 


,    Miss  Ameriky  Jones   ("Water"). 
Debaters      ^  Mjgs  Melje  johnson   ("Land"). 

Members. 

Costumes:  Up-to-date  costumes  of  stylish  colored  women.  Masks  of 
soft  material,  black  or  brown,  may  be  worn,  if  one  does  not  care 
to  blacken  face.  Masks  are  made  to  fit  over  entire  head  and 
face,  and  are  shoved  into  neck  of  gown  all  around.  Places  for 
eyes,  nose  and  mouth  are  cut  out  of  masks.  Eyes  and  nose  may 
be  blackened,  and  mouth  reddened,  with  grease-paint  and  rouge. 
Hats  and  bonnets  are  worn  in  such  fashion  as  nearly  to  cover 
hair.  Debaters  wear  black  Jersey  or  silk  gloves.  Members  wear 
gloves  of  any  color.     Fans  or  umbrellas  may  be  carried. 

Entertainment:  Success  of  entertainment  depends  largely  on  life  put 
into  action,  and  easy  flow  of  dialect. 

Scene:  Room  in  which  club  is  held,  table  in  center,  behind  which  is 
presiding  officer's  chair.  To  left  of  table  three  chairs  for  com- 
mittee; on  each  side  of  table  chair  for  debater;  around  room 
chairs  for  members,  debaters  and  committee.  On  table  song- 
books  and  small  bell. 

[Enter  three  Members,  who  look  around  as  if  surprised  to 
find  no  one  there.] 


GRADUATION  DAY  187 

1st  Member.    Massy  sakes !     I  b'lieve  we's  de  fust  ones  here ! 

2d  Mem.    'Gar  fo'  goodness,  I  b'lieve  we  is  ! 

3d  Mem.    Well,  law,  I  didn't  know  we's  comin'  so  early! 

[Enter  two  other  Members.] 
1st  Mem.    Wy  here  done  come  Sis'  Green.     [Goes  to  meet  her, 
holding  out  hand.]     How  you  do,  Sis'  Green!     I's  powerful  glad 
to  see  you. 

Sis'  Green.     I's  just  toler'ble,  thank  ye;  how's  yo'self? 

[All  shake  hands  with  newcomers  and  continue  conversa- 
tion in  lozv  tone.    Enter  three  Members.] 
1st  Newcomer.     No,  we's  not  de  fust,  neither;  I  knowed  we 
wa'n't  too  soon ! 

[They  are  greeted  by  other  Members  with  shaking  of  hands 
and  loud  kisses.  Some  zvander  about  room  or  fall  into 
groups,  continuing  greetings  and  talk  in  low  tones.  Mem- 
bers come  in  by  twos  and  threes  until  all,  except  Chair- 
man, have  arrived.  Last  two  come  in  hastily  and  out  of 
breath,  one  saying:] 
Law,  I  was  af eared  you  had  dun  commenced,  and  [fanning  vig- 
orously] I  jist  had  ter  run  ter  git  here  ! 

All.     Sh —  !     Sh  — ! 

[Enter  Chairman.  All  rush  forward  eager  to  greet  her 
and  bow  very  lozv  as  she  shakes  hands  with  them.  They 
ask  her  questions  as,  "How  you  do  dis  even',  Miss  Chaar- 
man?"  "Is  you  well?"     "You're  lookin'  well."  ] 

Chairman  [going  to  table  and  tapping  bell].  Meetin'  please 
come  to  order  an'  members  please  take  dere  seats.  [All  scramble 
for  chairs.]  Sis'  Adams,  will  you  please  han'  roun'  de  books? 
[Sis'  Adams  takes  books  from  table  and  hands  one  to  Chairman, 
and  one  to  every  tzuo  or  three  Members,  there  being  not  enough 
for  each  to  have  one.]  We'll  open  dis  meetin'  by  risin'  up  an' 
singin'  on  number  two  hundred. 

[All  turn  to  page,  rise  and  sing,  Chairman  beating  time. 
As  they  sing,  Members  keep  time  zeith  their  heads,  then 
zvith  hands,  finally  with  bodies,  so  while  last  stanza  is  sung, 
all  are  in  a  sway.    Sing  in  high  key  a.nd  not  too  fast.] 

Frien's  dey  come,  frien's  dey  go, 

While  on  dis  yaarth  we  stan'; 
Dere  come  erlong  joy,  dere  come  woe, 

While  on  dis  yaarth  we  stan'; 


188  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

Soon  we'll  all  be  leabin', 

Soon  we'll  all  be  leabin', 

Soon  we'll  all  be  leabin', 

For  de  happy  Ian'.    - 

Dere's  much  ob  comfort,  much  ob  pain, 

While  on  dis  yaarth  we  stan'; 

Dere's  brightest  sunshine,  drearest  rain, 

While  on  dis  yaarth  we  stan'; 

Soon  we'll  all  be  jinin', 

Soon  we'll  all  be  jinin', 

Soon  we'll  all  be  jinin', 

De  blessed,  happy  ban*. 

Den  from  wickedness  an'  sin, 

While  on  dis  yaarth  we  stan'; 

Let  us  make  us  pure  within, 

While  on  dis  yaarth  we  stan'; 

So  when  we  are  leabin', 

So  when  we  are  leabin', 

So  when  we  are  leabin', 

We'll  reach  de  happy  Ian'! 

[Rolling  eyes  upward,  Members  take  seats.] 

Chairman  [standing].  Secretary,  please  read  de  minutes  ob 
de  las'  meetin'. 

Secretary  [coming  forward,  book  in  hand,  from,  which  she 
reads].  De  Village  View  Debatin'  Club  met  conjointly  an'  to- 
gedder  in  de  specious  room  fitted  up  by  de  active  members  on  las' 

[zveek  before  this  is  presented]  night.     Meetin'  was  call'  to 

order  by  de  opperficious  chaarman,  an'  opened  by  risin'  up  an'  sing- 
in'  on  number  seventy-six,  after  which  we  listened  to  a  animated 
an'  eddyfyin'  debate  'twixt  Miss  Mandy  Whittle  an'  Miss  Susanna 
Minton,  de  question  ob  which  was:  "Which  is  de  mos'  becomin' 
to  de  mos'  complexions,  de  shade  ob  red  or  de  shade  ob  yellow?" 
De  committee  decided  in  favor  ob  de  red.  Miss  Ameriky  Jones  an' 
Miss  Melie  Johnson  was  app'inted  to  perform  de  debate  ob  de  nex' 
meetin'.  After  de  debate,  de  members  departed  de  hall  to  meet 
agin  de  nex'  week.  Dere  was  present  twenty-fo'  includin'  officers 
an'  members. 

Chairman.    Does  yo'  all  agree  to  de  readin'  ob  de  minutes? 

A  Member  [rising].  Miss  Chaarman,  I  move  de  secretary  for- 
got dat  speech  dat  Sis'  Ellis  made ;  I  move  dat  fine  speech  be  put  in. 

Another  Member  [rising].     I  second  dat  motion. 

Chairman.  It  has  been  moved  an'  seconded  dat  de  secretary 
forgot  de  fine  speech  Sis'  Ellis  made  las'  week ;  all  in  favor  ob  put- 
tin'  it  in  say  "aye,"  contrary,  "no;"  de  "ayes"  am  bigger  dan  de 


GRADUATION  DAY  189 

"no's"  so  Miss  Secretary  please  see  dat  de  speech  go  on  de  book. 
Any  mo'  objections?  If  not,  dey  be  as  dey  is.  Ladies  an'  gem- 
men,  we  members  ob  dis  female  debatin'  society  am  here  dis  night 
to  hear  a  debate  'twixt  Miss  Ameriky  Jones  an'  Miss  Melie  John- 
son, de  question  ob  which  am :  "Which  hab  produced  de  mos'  won- 
ders, de  Ian'  or  de  water?"  Miss  Jones  an'  Miss  Johnson  please 
come  forward,  an'  take  dere  seats.  I  p'ints  Miss  Bytha  Allen, 
Miss  Cloe  Jenkins  an'  Miss  Manthy  Ballard  to  ack  as  committee, 
an'  dey  will  please  come  forward  an'  take  dere  places  in  dis  row 
ob  seats  fixed  here  for  dat  purpose.  [They  take  seats.]  Water 
takes  de  lead;  Miss  Jones  can  begin. 

[Miss  Jones  sits  on  right  of  table,  Miss  Johnson  on  left.] 

Miss  Jones  [rising].  Miss  Chaarman,  geographers  tell  us  dat 
one-quarter  ob  de  yaartlrs  surface  is  Ian'  an'  three-quarters  is 
water ;  in  one  squaar  foot  ob  dat  water  is  more  wonder  dan  in 
forty  squaar  rods  ob  de  Ian'.  Dese  chillen  settin'  'round  hyar  can 
figger  on  dat.  Dat's  a  argyment  I  introduce  jus'  to  keep  de  chillen 
quiet  awhile.  When,  you  spill  water  on  a  table,  it  spreads  out  all 
thin — on  a  clean  table,  I  mean.  Now,  s'posen  de  table's  dusty. 
Note  de  change.  De  water  separates  in  globules.  Fer  de  informa- 
tion ob  some  ob  de  folks  I  would  'splain  dat  globules  is  draps,  sep- 
arated draps.  Now,  why  is  dat?  Isn't  dat  wonderful?  Can  de 
Ian'  do  like  dat?  No,  ma'am.  Dere's  no  sich  wonder  in  de  Ian'. 
[Drops  into  chair  and  fans.] 

Miss  Johnson  [rising].  Miss  Chaarman,  I  don't  see  nothin' 
wonderful  in  de  water,  gettin'  in  drops  on  a  dusty  table.  Dat's  de 
natcher  ob  de  water.  Dere's  nothin'  wonderful  in  anythin'  actin' 
accordin'  to  natcher.  S'posen  it  wasn't  its  natcher,  what  cause  it 
'  to  get  into  drops  ?  De  dust !  De  dust !  Dat  am  de  pulverized  Ian', 
de  Ian' !  De  wonder's  in  de  Ian',  after  all.  Miss  Chaarman,  Miss 
Jones  makes  no  argyment  for  de  water  at  all,  but  all  for  de  Ian'. 
She  makes  a  pint  dat  de  table  should  be  dusty.  De  dust  makes  de 
wonderful  change  in  de  water,  an'  de  dust  is  de  Ian' !  I  wants  no 
better  argyment  for  de  Ian'  dan  Miss  Jones  makes.  [Sits,  zvith  sat- 
isfied toss  of  head.'] 

Miss  Jones.  Miss  Chaarman,  speakin'  ob  de  wonders  in  de 
water,  I  introduce  Niagary  Falls — de  gran',  stupenjus,  majestic 
wonder  ob  de  whole  worl'!  [Spreading  arms.]  Dere's  no  such 
or-inspiring  objeck  in  de  Ian'.  Den  see  de  waterfalls  ob  minor 
importance  scattered  all  ober  de  face  ob  de  yaarth.  Who  eber  saw 
de  Ian'  rollin'  ober  de  precipice  like  de  water?    See  de  mitey  ocean, 


190  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

She  hole  up  de  ship  full  ob  frate  an'  passengers'widout  props,  an' 
yit  de  ship  move  along-  in  de  water  if  jus'  a  little  wind  touch  her. 
Put  de  ship  on  de  Ian'  an'  load  her;  forty  locomotives  tear  her  all 
to  pieces  'fore  she  move.  I  said  before  dat  dere's  more  wonders 
in  one  squaar  foot  ob  de  water  dan  in  forty  rods  ob  de  Ian/.  I 
knows  I's  right !  Why,  one  night  las'  week  I's  ober  to  Doc'  Rus- 
sell's house,  an'  de  ole  doctor  he  ax  me  would  I  like  to  see  a  drap 
ob  water  in  his  glass — his  magnifyin'  glass,  I  mean.  I  tole  him 
sartinly.  So  he  rig  up  de  glass,  an'  when  he  got  um  all  right,  he 
tole  me  to  take  a  good  look.  Well,  Miss  Chaarman,  in  dat  one 
drap  ob  water  I  seed  more  wonders  dan  I  eber  saw  in  de  whole 
course  ob  my  life  before.  Dere  was  a  animal  like  a  gran'mammy's 
night-cap  wid  one  string,  a-scootin'  round  after  anodder  t'ing  like 
a  curry-comb  wid  a  flounced  handle.  Dere  was  a  year  ob  corn 
wid  a  ruffle  down  each  side ;  an'  [growing  very  animated]  de  fust 
t'ing  I  knowed,  a  six-legged  bass-drum  come  swimmin'  along  an' 
jes'  swallowed  it  up.  Talk  about  de  wonders  ob  de  Ian',  dey  aint 
a  patchin'  to  de  water !  [Bring  fan  or  fist  down  upon  table  with 
force  as  last  words  are  spoken.] 

Miss  Johnson.  De  fust  part  ob  Miss  Jones's  argyment  seems 
to  me  is  all  for  de  Ian'.  Dere  would  be  no  Niagary  or  any  odder 
falls  if  de  Ian'  wasn't  in  such  a  raos'  wonderful  shape  to  make  falls. 
De  water  falls  'cause  dat's  its  natcher.  Jes'  look  right  here  in 
Mount  Vernon.  Dere's  Norton's  dam;  dere's  de  same  principle, 
de  same  law  ob  natcher.  Take  away  de  dam,  de  water  is  no  more 
dan  common  water.  No,  ma'am  [with  toss  of  head]  dere's  no 
wonder  in  de  water  at  Niagary.    De  wonder's  in  de  Ian' ! 

Miss  Jones  [rising  with  very  important  air].  P'rhaps  it's  not 
gen'rully  known,  but  still  it  am  a  fac'  [striking  palm  of  left  hand . 
with  fan],  dat  if  it's  not  for  de  water  in  de  air,  we'd  all  die.  Dere 
mus'  be  water  in  de  air  we  take  into  our  lungs  to  sustain  life,  An', 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  dere  mus'  be  water  in  de  air  to  sustain 
combustion.  Yo'  couldn't  kindle  a  fire  were  it  not  for  de  aqueous 
gases  ob  de  air.  By  aqueous  I  mean  watery.  I  call  dat  wonderful. 
I  can  see  nothin'"  like  it  in  de  Ian'— dat  de  water  which  put  out  de 
fire  is  necessary  to  make  de  fire  burn ! 

Miss  Johnson  [rising  very  quickly,  hardly  giving  Miss  Jones 
tune  to  sit  doivn].  Miss  Chaarman,  I  hope  dat  you'll  rule  out  all 
dat  Miss  Jones  jes'  said.  Instruct  de  Committee  not  to  take  no 
count  ob  it.  Sich  talk's  too  much  fool  nonsense.  [While  Miss 
Johnson  is  saying  this,  Miss  Tones  fairly  jumps  from  chair  and  is 
about  to  attack  opponent.    Shakes  head  as  if  to  say:  "You  had 


GRADUATION  DAY  191 


I  ctter  apolo\j.c/'  when  Miss  Johnson  begs  to  be  excused.  Chair- 
man cagerlinotions  Miss  Jones  to  seat.]     "Sense  my  "spression, 
but  I  git  so V .cited  when   I  hear  such  tomfoolery  an"  ridicdous 
stuff  in  a    sptable  meeting  I  forgits  myself,  an'  don't  know  for 
cle  miniut  wedkr  I's  oher  de  wash-tub  or  in  a  meetiir .    'Scuse  me, 
£ri    i  11  try  fo  rep  --.     l^alves  down.     But.  as  I  say,  when  sich 
trash  is  luggec1in  as  sensible  argyment,  it  riles  me.     Miss  Jones 
says  we  mus'  lb  water  to  breeve.    I  daar  her  to  de  trial.     [Shak- 
■    ing  fist  at  Mi5  Jones,  who  rises  to  accept  challenge,  but  is  mo- 
tioned to  scaiby  Chairman.]      She  may  go  down  air   stick  her 
I    college  bed — >h,  'sense  me.  ma'am.     I  mean  her  eddicated  hed,  in 
de  creek,  an'take  her  breevin'  dar,  ma'am,  an'  I'll  take  my  stan' 
an"  iiiy  breeW  on  dis  platform,  by  de  stove,  an'  let  de  Committee 
decide  de  crse  on  de  merits  ob  de  proof  on  who  holes  out  de  long- 
est.! Den  Isten  to  what  she  say  'bout  water  makin'  de  fire  burn. 
Did  Tou  eler — did  you  eber  hyaar  de  like?    Xow  'cordiir  to  Miss 
Jonei,  s'ptsen  I  wants  to  kindle  a  fire  in  dis  yar  stove.    I  gits  some 
shavn's  aa'  den  puts  in  some  pine  kindlin"s,  den  berry  carefully 
pouron  a  little,  jes'  a  little,  karysene.  den  puts  on  a  few  nice  pieces 
ob  cciai,  iigYu:.  a  i.icACci,  sticks  her  to  de  shavin's  an'  she  don't  burn. 
J  lights  a  newspaper  an"  frows  her  under  de  grate,  de  shavin's 
don  t  light.    I  gits  mad,  an'  T  slaps  in  a  bucket  ob  water,  an"  away 
she  goes,  all  a-blazin'  in  a  secon' !    Oh.  pshaw  !  sich  talk  !     [Turn- 
ing to  Committee.']     Don't  take  no  'count  ob  dat.     It  would  be  a 
wonder  if  it  was  true;  but  oh,  my!   [throwing  hands  and  head 
hack,  laughing  scornfully]  what  cabbage  it  is !    Jeclges,  don't  take 
no  [count  ob  dat  idle  talk.    I  say,  ma'am  [turning  to  Chairman], 
dat  de  Ian'  produce'  de  mos*  wonders.     Look  at  de  trees,  de  flow- 
ers, de  grain,  de  cabbages,  de  inyuns,  dat  spring  up  out  ob  de  Ian'. 
Look  at  de  Mammoth  Cave,  more  wonderful  dan  all  de  falls  dat 
eber  fell !     See  how  dey  bore  in  de  groun'  fifteen  hundred  feet  or 
mdre,  an'  out  come  coal-oil,  two  t'ousand  bar'ls  a  minit.     I'd  jes' 
like  to  see  any  ob  dese  water  folks  bore  a  hole  fifteen  hundred  feet 
down  into  de  ocean,  an'  pump  out  one  gallon  ob  coal-oil  in  an  hour. 
Can  ycu  dig  down  in  de  ocean  or  de  lakes  an'  git  out  gol'  an'  silver 
an'  iron  an'  coal?    Can  you  build  a  railroad  on  de  ocean,  and  cut  a 
tunnel  t'rough  de  waters  ?  Xo,  ma'am    [Speaker  lias  x^orked  up  to 
great  climax,  and  now  striking  fist  upon  table,  or  umbrella  upon 
floor,  she  sinks  into  chair,  exhausted.] 

Miss  Jones.  Miss  Chaarman,  it's  jes'  'curred  to  my  mind  on 
Miss  Johnson's  speakin'  "bout  de  trees  an'  de  grass  an'  de  inyuns 
[s'-nick  lif>s  at  mention  of  onions]  an'  cabbages,  dat  when  I  wp^ 


I 


192  WERNER'S  READINGS  NO.  55 

out  in  de  fur  Wes'  [indicating  direction]  I  alius  no/e  dat  on  de 
plains,  on  de  mountains,  anywhere  away  from  de  stpms,  no  tim- 
ber grows,  no  wegitation,  no  grass,  mos'ly  barren ;  fit  all  'long  de 
streams  clere's  de  grass,  de  trees,  de  wegitation.  i/hy?  'Cause 
ob  de  moistureness,  de  water  !  So,  'pears  to  me  dat/e  cause  ob  all 
de  beautiful  wegitation,  after  all,  is  uc  ;:Jm  ;■  -All; " Xt  sOT iua;atlt^4 
[Leans  far  over  the  table  as  she  addresses  Chairm^.] 
Chairman.    Yas,  dat's  so,  dat's  so !  V 

[Debaters  turn  backs  upon  one  another  as  MisWones  takes 
seat.  Committee  put  heads  together  for  Hnal\onsultation, 
for  they  have  been  taking  notes  and  exchangig  opinions 
during  debate.  Debaters  try  to  zvhisper  to  Committee  and 
make  motions  to  win  favor  to  their  respective  sues.  Mem- 
bers are  deeply  interested  in  decision,  and  leak  forward, 
whisper  or  nudge  one  another.  At  last  decisio\  is  nlade 
and  paper  is  handed  to  Chairman,  who  reads  vecy  slcwly 
as  if  she  understands  writing  with  difficulty.  Debaters  sit 
back  to  back,  expressing  little  interest  until  theii  sublets 
are  mentioned,  when  they  listen  intently.]  A  . 

Chairman.  Ladies  an'  gemmeii,  de  Committee  hab  decided 
about  as  follows:  [Reads.]  De  advocate /ob  de  water  side  hab 
made  a  good  showin'  considerin'  how  little  I  we  really  knows  'bout 
water.  [At  mention  of  water  Miss  Jones  looks  up  with  interest, 
and  thinking  she  will  zvin,  claps  hands  and  points  -finger  at  op- 
ponent.] But  as  we  is  more  sartin  ob  de  Ian'  we  must  decide  in 
favor  ob  de  Ian'  [here  Miss  Johnson  is  interested jTjhcii  she  wvfif^m 
she  claps  liands  and  reaching  over  table  punches  Miss  Jones  with 
umbrella;  her  triumph  is  shown  in  eyes  and  mouth],  but  recom- 
mend de  water  side  as  desarvin'  high  credit  for  de  investigation, 
an'  de  instructin'  an'  edifyin'  ob  de  meetin'.  [Miss  Jones  tosses 
head  in  derision.]  Ladies  an'  gemmen,  as  de  debate  am  now  ober, 
when  I  taps  dis  bell  yo'  can  all  rise  up  an'  be  dispersed.  We  t'anks 
yo'  all  fur  yo'  attendance  an'  attention,  an'  hopes  yo'  all  will  come 
back  agin  at  de  ringin'  ob  de  nex'  bell.    So  we  bids  yo'  good-night. 

[Curtain.] 

[//  play  be  given  where  there  is  no  curtain  let  Members  crowd 
about  Miss  Johnson  to  congratulate  her  and  then  go  to  Miss 
Jones  to  offer  sympathy.  It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  every 
action,  but  if  spirit  be  put  into  it,  entertainment  will  be  made  very 
amusing.] 


s 


ONGS    and 

HOW     TO    SING    THEM 


Practical  Lessons  in  Singing  and  in  Interpretation 


FRANK  HERBERT  TUBBS 

Music  Giveti  in  Every  Instance 


1T.— angles  JEver  JBrfgbt  anD  jfafr 

Aria  for  Soprano  from  Oratorio  "Theo- 
dora "         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  50c. 

By  George  Frederick  Handel 

"ITU.— ©  IRest  fit  tbe  XorD 

Aria    for    Contralto    or    Mezzo-soprano 
from  Oratorio  "  Elijah  "   .         .         .         ,50c. 

By  Felix   Mendelssohn 

1F1F1I.— /Ifcg  Bearest  Ibcart 

Love  Song  ......  50c. 

Words   and   Music  by  Sir  Arthur  Sullivan 

•fflD—  BaODg 

Pathos  Song 50c. 

Words  by  Mary  Mark  Lemon.     Music  by  A.  H.  Behrend 


Any  ef  these  songs  sent  postpaid for  50c. 

SPECIAL   OFFER.— All  four  of  these  songs      ci  ?r 
sent  postpaid  for «J>±.£3 

This  Special  Offer  is  good  only  when 
sent  directly  to  us,  the  publishers.  .  . 


Address    the   Publishers 


V 


EDGAR  S.  WERNER  &  GO 

11    East    !4th   Street,  New  York 


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